


we could make it so divine.

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. louis revisits some of his past. which mostly means harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we could make it so divine.

**Author's Note:**

> this is for [dom](http://starseas.tumblr.com/) because she's the sunshine to my rainy days and i love her a lot.
> 
> big thanks to leighanne for editing and giving me the idea for this. you're my favourite and i love you very much. also kiwi, ju, amber, and betsy for being the best and putting up with my whining and constant need of validation and help. i love you guys. i couldn't have finished this without you all.
> 
> and if you read this i want to say thank you and that you're wonderful.

disclaimer: there are mentions of a car accident in this, though they're not in detail. just so you know before you read!

 

 

Louis doesn’t remember the accident, not really.

He remembers the few minutes before; driving in his mum’s car on his way home from football practice, singing loudly to whatever song was on the radio the entire way. That’s when he saw the bright lights to his left, and that’s when everything else went dark.

Right now, though, he’s in Harry’s room. It’s a few days ago, when Louis had visited Harry after putting the girls to bed, before his mum had gotten home from her shift at work.

“Feels like old times, doesn’t it?” Louis watches himself say, oblivious sitting on Harry’s bed.

Harry smiles at him, just a little upturn of the mouth. He’s sitting a few feet away, nodding once. “I guess so,” Harry says slowly, and Louis remembers how sad and forlorn he’d sounded as he said it.

Louis is sitting at Harry’s desk, but neither of them notice him, or else he reckons his old self would’ve said something, at the very least. So he sits, unnoticed and not saying anything as Harry frowns.

“Oh, come on now,” past Louis says, pressing his toe into Harry’s thigh. “What’s so bad about it, then?”

Harry’s pouting, arms crossed over his chest like some sort of inconsolable infant — so familiar that even now Louis finds himself holding back a laugh, putting a hand in front of his mouth.

“I don’t know, it’s just weird,” Harry answers after a moment.

Past Louis’ face drops as he pauses for a few seconds as he tilts his head to one side, trying to get Harry to look at him. Harry doesn’t, because he’s a stubborn bastard, and instead he starts picking at a loose thread on his jumper.

“What, me being home from school?” Louis asks, shifting a little.

Harry’s eyes stay downcast. “Yeah, sort of. And working a lot,” he says.

“But I’m here now, aren’t I?” Louis asks, voice gentler this time as Harry sighs.

Harry doesn’t say anything as Louis watches himself hook a finger under Harry’s chin, lifting it. He can recall now, how warm Harry’s skin had felt — how pliant he was to Louis’ gentle touch.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry mumbles. “I’m just being an idiot, that’s all.”

Louis laughs, letting go of Harry’s chin as he leans back against the wall. It’s strange now, Louis decides where he’s sitting — watching himself. He’s a bit sweaty from football practice, a smudge of dirt across his forehead where Niall had tackled him to the ground.

“It’s fine, H. I would be jealous if I didn’t get to hangout with me all the time as well,” Louis teases.

Louis watches Harry a moment, on the edge of the chair as Harry smiles, just a little. It’s another small upturn of the mouth but Louis doesn’t miss it, nor does he miss the faint colour coming to Harry’s cheeks as he shoves Louis away, lightly.

“No need to be smug about it,” Harry snaps, trying to sound annoyed but all he really sounds is amused, Louis thinks now. “I’ve been hanging out with you since I was eleven, so.”

Louis grins, practically beaming on the bed. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you, Styles,” he says, ruffling a bit of Harry’s curls.

Harry rolls his eyes, ducking his head away from Louis’ grasp. “Didn’t say that, did I,” Harry says, but he’s grinning.

Louis gasps, putting a hand on his chest. Present Louis rolls his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair. “That is terribly rude, Harry, perhaps I’ll just go and leave if you’re going to be that way —”

Louis watches as his past self moves, trying to get off the bed before Harry takes hold of his wrist and pulls him back down. “No, no, I take it back —” Harry starts, but it’s too late because Louis tickles his side, hearing him laugh loudly.

“Louis, Louis, Louis —” Harry starts, breathless as Louis continues to tickle him, the two of them starting to roll around the bed and everything starts to fade around Louis’ vision until —

 

“Louis? Can you — hear me?” Harry’s voice brings him somewhere else now, bright, as Louis winces.

The walls are white, bland, and a small window at the far end as he sits on another chair in the corner of the room. The first thing he sees is Harry, bent over a bed and that’s when Louis sees it.

Well, he sees. Himself.

He’s in a bed, eyes closed and a monitor beeping beside him. Louis pauses, unsure what to do as he soon sees Zayn as well, on the other side, giving Harry a concerned look.

So he’s not dead then, Louis thinks to himself for a moment.

“Harry, we should go,” Zayn urges after a moment, tugging on Harry’s sleeve.

But Harry shakes his head, insistent, as he grips Louis’ hand where he’s on the bed. But Louis pauses, glancing to his own hand. He feels nothing — he doesn’t feel anything, sitting here. 

“Hey —” Louis says, slowly standing as he walks toward them. “Harry — I’m right here, yeah? Can’t you hear me?”

But neither of them move. Zayn’s still looking at Harry, shifting where he’s standing and Harry’s frozen, expression not changing as he shakes his head.

“He has to hear me, Zayn,” Harry says finally.

Louis blinks, shaking his head, as if this is somehow some sort of long, exaggerated dream. He can’t be dead if he’s here now, standing in this room and seeing Harry and Zayn — _really_ seeing them. But none of it makes sense, Louis thinks as he tries to tug on Zayn’s sleeve, but nothing happens. Louis watches as his hand goes right through Zayn, a sense of dread going through him as he tries to steady himself, taking in a slow breath.

So he moves around the bed to stand beside Harry. It’s strange, Louis decides, standing there and Harry not seeing him. If it was different, if Harry could see him, Louis can only imagine the smile his face would break out into — sigh with relief and hug him, warm and tight and flat against his chest. 

Louis reaches out, slowly, doing the same as he did with Zayn as he touches where Harry’s hand is on his own. He waits and it still goes right through.

Harry doesn’t move, but he does pause. Louis takes in a sharp breath. And for a moment, a split second, Louis wonders if Harry can see him — if this nightmare Louis has somehow been transported into is about to end. 

It doesn’t, though. Harry’s brows furrow for a moment, but it soon passes when Zayn starts talking again.

“Harry — we have to go, meet Jay, yeah? We can’t be late,” Zayn says.

Harry doesn’t hear the way Zayn’s voice nearly breaks at the end of his sentence, but Louis does. He swallows, hard, watching as Harry finally takes back his hand, slowly. 

He stands there a moment, jaw set and Louis wants to scream — wants to stomp his feet over and over until they see him, until they realize he’s still here, still very much here.

“Let’s go,” Harry says, his voice watery as Zayn puts a gentle arm around his shoulders, as if steadying him as they walk.

Louis follows, walking quickly to keep up with them. “No, no, you can’t leave, I’m here, see? I’m still here, Harry, you don’t need to frown like that —” Louis says, the words coming fast out of his mouth, but neither of them slow down.

In fact, they walk faster out to Zayn’s car. It’s snowing outside, still early December, Louis figures as he shakes his head. 

Or, it should be early December, if he remembers correctly. His practice had been on December fourteenth, exactly ten days before his birthday. He knows that because he’d told Niall over and over before, during, and after football practice — and he remembers the way Niall had rolled his eyes, telling him to “stop talking about it already, Tommo.”

They get in the car, driving off as Louis watches them go. He doesn't even shiver in the cold air as he stands there.

 

When Louis blinks, he’s in the locker room from a few days ago.

“Fuck off,” Niall says, batting Louis’ hand away.

Louis grins, holding up his phone as he tries to defend himself from Niall’s insistent swatting at him. “I don’t know what you’re so mad about, then,” Louis says simply.

“Trying to get indecent pictures of me,” Niall snaps, pulling a pair of pants over his boxers.

Louis leans against the locker, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t believe you would accuse me of that, Horan. I’m an upstanding citizen,” he says.

Niall doesn’t respond, instead tosses an empty water bottle towards Louis in response. “Don’t go sending those to Zayn, either,” he adds, somehow knowingly.

“You have such little faith in me,” Louis says. “I texted them to him when you were getting ready anyway.”

“You dick —” Niall starts, grabbing for his phone as Louis pulls it back just before he can get it.

“Alright, alright, if you’re going to mope about it, take it,” Louis relents, handing Niall his phone  
He flips Louis off before he puts it into his bag.

“Coming to the party this weekend?” Niall asks, putting on a jumper.

“Don’t know,” Louis says, shrugging. “Might have to work, or babysit.”

Niall makes a face. “Come on, it’s summer — and you never work on weekends, anyway,” he says.

“Glad to know you’ve got my whole schedule memorised, Horan,” Louis says. “Not sure if I should find this endearing or a little unsettling, to be honest.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Niall spits, sitting down on one of the benches. “I’m just saying. You should come. We all miss you.”

“Will Payno be there?” Louis asks. Niall nods. “Because I’m always here for a drunk Liam, if I’m being honest.”

“You just like fucking with him,” Niall says, laughing a little.

“Maybe that,” Louis admits, shrugging. “I should probably be able to come, though.”

“Holding you to that,” Niall says, pointing a finger at him.

“What, are you going to make me sign a napkin promising I’ll go?” Louis asks, putting the last of his things into his bag.

“Possibly,” Niall says, grinning as Louis rolls his eyes. “Been sort of feeling like you’re neglecting us a bit.”

Louis scoffs, moving to follow Niall towards the door. “Is this you or is this Harry?” he asks.

Niall smiles, a little, but doesn’t have to say anymore as he sighs. “Just, come to the party. It’ll be fun,” is all he says.

“Alright, alright, I’ll come. Will you get off my case about it now?” Louis asks, mostly kidding as they walk out the door.

Louis stands, watching himself go as he looks around. It’s cleared out, no one else around as he makes his way toward his locker. Though _technically_ it’s not his own locker Louis likes to say it is — a piece of tape across the top of it, holding up a paper that says ‘The Tommo, 18’ in Niall’s messy scrawl. He stares at it a moment, taking one of his hands as he tries to smooth it out.

It doesn’t move, and Louis can’t say he’s all that surprised. 

Instead of staying in the locker rooms he moves, going out the door and down the hallway. He reaches the doors, pushing them open. 

The pitch is empty, only a few of the lights on as Louis kicks a foot into the grass. It feels like ages ago that he was actually here, practicing.

It’s only a small league, nothing too serious but Louis and Niall had decided to sign up anyway, per the request of their friend Greg, who apparently didn’t have enough people for his team. There’s a practice once a week and a game every two, which is manageable with Louis’ job, at least.

Louis isn’t sure where else to go, taking in a deep breath as he looks around for a moment. 

Harry had come to their game, first one of the season and despite Louis telling him that he wasn’t at all nervous, he was, and Harry knew that. So when he had stepped out to play he’d seen Harry first, huddled in his jacket and grinning despite the cooler air. And Louis hadn’t told him, but seeing Harry there had settled something in him, making it easier to carry himself to the middle of the field.

They’d lost, though Louis had scored a goal in the second half — soliciting a cry from Niall and Harry standing in the stands. Zayn’s head was in his hands from embarrassment and Liam was laughing when Louis looked over at them. He can almost see it now, where he’s standing — hands on his hips and pressing his lips together.

“When you’re famous you can sign my arse,” Niall said, only laughing louder when Louis had pinched his nipple in retaliation. 

And he’d been happy, sweaty and in the middle of the field with Niall hanging off his waist — Harry beaming at him, Zayn and Liam clapping from the stands. 

Sort of makes him want to go back, Louis thinks as he shakes his head.

 

“Harry, dear, can you make sure there’s some clean cups out there?” Jay’s asking, Louis now standing in the middle of his living room.

“Sure, yeah,” Harry answers, smiling, though it’s forced as he steps out.

Louis pauses, trying to adjust best he can as he spots Zayn again, standing in the corner of the kitchen talking to Greg, Louis realizes after a moment. Greg’s here. Why is Greg here? Louis wonders, taking a small step closer.

“ — Went to see him today,” Zayn’s saying, holding a mug in one hand.

“With Harry?” Greg asks, his tone quiet. Louis has never heard him this quiet, now that he thinks of it.

“Yeah, we went together,” Zayn answers, leaning against the counter. “Not much else we can do, really.”

Louis blinks, wanting to reach out and try to touch Zayn again but stops himself. 

It’s a small house, the Tomlinson house, so it’s a wonder there’s so many people in here, Louis thinks to himself as he watches Jay move out of the kitchen. There’s a few more people there, talking quietly amongst themselves as he turns into the living room, soon spotting Harry.

There’s mugs, and a table of food, Jay kneeling down in front of the twins to help them eat at their plates of food. 

Harry’s talking to Lottie, hands around his middle in a way Louis knows all too well, wanting nothing more than to unwrap them and feel the warmth of Harry’s skin beneath his fingers.

But it’s too much, standing there as Louis moves to the hallway upstairs, half expecting the stairs to make that loud, creaking noise as he goes. They don’t, instead making no sound at all as he moves carefully.

His bedroom door is closed, the hallway dark as he stops in front of it for a moment. He wonders if he should go in, stopping for half a minute before deciding to go in, not needing to open the door as he does.

Surprisingly the light in the corner of his room is on, a bit of light illuminating the room until —

“Holy _shit_.”

Louis lets out something similar to a yell, putting a hand over his mouth as he turns to find Niall on his bed — face pale and eyes wide. “What the hell — is going on, what the _fuck_ —”

“Okay,” Louis starts, cutting him off. “Okay, okay — hey. Niall. Can you see me?”

Niall doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move for a moment and Louis wonders if perhaps Harry or Zayn had walked in but when he turns to check there’s no one, only him.

“Is this some kind of practical joke, because I’m not finding any fucking humour —”

“Not a joke,” Louis says firmly. “Not a joke but very, very fucking weird.”

Niall’s pauses are getting longer, as if he’s somehow trying to figure out what is going on until there’s a knock at the door.

“Ni?” Zayn’s voice comes, concerned. “Is everything alright?”

Niall looks to Louis, then the door. “Yeah, it’s fine just don’t — come in.”

“Why the fuck not,” Zayn deadpans, followed by the sound of him fiddling with the door handle. 

“I’m — busy. With something,” Niall says but he’s shit with excuses, they all know that.

“Alright, well, I’m coming in anyway,” Zayn says as he turns the handle.

And for a split second Louis feels sheer and utter panic run through him as Zayn steps inside his room, looking at Niall.

“I’m fine. Just — here, you know,” Niall says, looking at Louis, then Zayn.

Zayn looks where Louis is, a confused expression on his face. “You were shouting,” he says slowly. “Why were you shouting?”

“Just —” Niall stops himself, looking at Louis once more. “A spider.”

Zayn looks at Niall for about half a minute before he sighs, taking another step toward Niall.

“Zayn,” Louis says. “Zayn, can you hear me?”

“You can tell me what it is, Niall. You know that,” Zayn says, voice softer as he sits beside Niall.

“Or, alternatively, someone could tell me what the fuck is going on right now,” Louis adds, sitting beside Zayn.

Niall looks to Louis, then Zayn, eyes still wide and face still pale. “Trying to get my head on straight, I guess,” Niall says. He gives Louis a look.

Zayn leans forward, kissing Niall’s forehead for a moment before pulling back. Louis watches as he runs his thumb along the inside of Niall’s wrist slowly.

“I’m going to help Jay with a few things then I’ll see you down there, yeah?” Zayn asks as Niall nods in response. “You can take as long as you want though so don’t worry — about that.”

“Thanks, Zayn,” Niall says, smiling a little as Zayn makes his way back to the door, closing it with a quiet click.

Neither Louis nor Niall say anything for a moment, the two staring at one another.

“So. Zayn can’t see you,” Niall says finally.

“Gathered that myself, actually,” Louis says flatly.

“But I can see you,” Niall adds, ignoring Louis’ previous comment.

“I was downstairs and no one said anything so I would assume that as well,” Louis says.

Niall rubs a hand along his face, sighing loudly. His face has gotten a bit more colour, which is a little reassuring from where Louis is sitting.

“This is so fucked up,” Niall says.

Louis doesn’t argue, just shifts a little as he looks around his room. “Are you and Zayn —” Louis stops, watching Niall for a moment.

“Are we —” Niall trails off, confused, as Louis gives him a look.

“Are you — you know,” Louis motions with his hand but Niall blinks, not saying anything. “Are you two dating?”

“Of all the things to ask me, this is what you came up with?” Niall lectures, rolling his eyes. “Yes, we are. Or, I think we are. I’m not really sure.”

“For how long?” Louis asks.

“Dunno,” Niall says, glancing toward him. His gaze lingers on Louis, almost as if, if he looks away too soon Louis will disappear. “A while now, I guess. But about two weeks, give or take.”

Louis’ brows furrow as he looks ahead, at his door. “How long have I been out for?” he asks, not really seeing any other way of putting it.

Niall looks down at where his hands are folded in his lap. Louis doesn’t ask anything, just waits as he inhales slowly, waiting wordlessly.

“A month today,” Niall says, a sad smile on his lips.

A month. The words repeat through Louis’ head, wondering where the hell the last thirty days have gone. He can’t place them — it’s mostly a blur or memories and things he can’t remember. The thought settles uncomfortably inside Louis.

“So that’s why all these people are here?” he asks.

“Your mum planned it, with Harry,” Niall explains. “Said they wanted people to come together and just — I don’t know. Talk about it, or not talk about it, whatever they wanted.”

“Sure, yeah. Makes sense, I guess,” Louis says, shivering a little at the thought.

He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it. Another silence lapses between them and Louis doesn’t say anything again, just waits until Niall speaks once more.

“You know what the part I can’t stop thinking about is?” Louis doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head as Niall continues, “is that I asked if you wanted to come to my house, to stay the night so we could watch the game in the morning.”

Louis pauses, remembering now as he runs a hand through his hair. Truthfully, he hadn’t even remembered that — standing in the car park with Niall practically begging Louis to come over so he didn’t have to watch alone, but Louis had to work so he'd said no.

“Niall,” Louis says, gently. “You didn’t know, you can’t — do that to yourself.”

Niall’s looking the closest Louis has ever seen him to being furious as his shoulders start to shake, just slightly. “You would be here, though.”

“I _am_ here,” Louis argues. 

Niall licks his lips, wiping at the corner of his eyes as Louis swallows — choosing to ignore the lump rising in his throat. “There was a patch of ice, on the road,” Niall starts, as if reading Louis’ thoughts and continuing on with the story. “And the bloke couldn’t get his car to stop when he spun out. You were at a stop sign and he just —”

“Hit me, yeah,” Louis finishes for him, “I remember that. Sort of. Mostly I just remember the bright lights, I guess.”

“That’s all you remember?” Niall asks.

“Not a lot else, really. Next thing I knew I was in Harry’s room from a few days ago, and then the hospital room with Harry and Zayn,” Louis says.

Niall looks about as confused as Louis feels, chewing his lower lip as he stands, beginning to pace the room. That’s so very typical Niall, Louis thinks with a little bit of relief.

“I should get back down there. Harry probably needs a break,” Niall says after about a minute of his pacing.

Louis pauses, watching Niall as he stands himself now. “What do you mean?”

Niall’s face pales, as if he regrets saying anything as he holds up a hand. “It’s nothing he’s just —”

“Tell me, Niall,” Louis urges, though the worry twisting his stomach tells him he might not want to know.

“He’s just, taking this really hard,” Niall answers. “Jay had to sit him down and tell him he can’t visit every day, that it’s too much.”

Louis feels as though he’s going to be sick, a weird sort of clenching in his chest as he sucks in a sharp breath. “Every day?”

“Sometimes more than that,” Niall says.

Louis’ hands ball up at his sides. “Okay, well, get back down there and I’ll just — go with you, I guess,” he says.

Niall nods, but before he opens the door he turns back to Louis. “No talking,” he says.

“What, no, you can’t —”

“I can and I’m saying it now, Louis. I can’t have you saying shit in one of my ears because I’ll just snap at you and look like I’m talking to a —” he doesn’t finish, and Louis is a little grateful for that. “Anyway. No talking, understand?”

“Scout’s honour,” Louis promises, hand over his chest.

Niall narrows his eyes for a moment, as if trying to figure out if Louis is lying or not before he opens the door, seemingly convinced before they start back down the hallway.

Zayn gives Niall a look as soon as they get into the living room but Niall just gives him a small smile, gripping his elbow before moving to get a water bottle. Louis follows him, noticing Niall glancing over his shoulder once or twice before they get there.

Greg’s gone, and a number of other people — the house feeling less crowded than it did before as Niall approaches Harry. He’s talking to Aiden, standing next to the sofa where the twins are asleep on one of the cushions.

It’s so strange then, Louis decides, Harry not having any idea he’s there when he spots Niall. He puts an arm around Niall’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer and Louis ignores what he can only assume to be jealousy going through him when he does.

“Still working at the bakery, yeah,” Harry’s saying to Aiden, his tea half finished as Louis nearly rolls his eyes at the sight of it. Cold and unfinished, Harry’s standard cup of tea, he thinks with a small smile. “Don’t know if I’ll go back to school when summer’s over, though.”

“Why not?” Niall asks, just before Louis can even open his mouth to ask the very same thing.

Harry glances at Aiden, then Niall, shrugging. “If he doesn’t wake up by then I’m not leaving,” he says simply, as if they should’ve somehow figured this out.

“Like _hell_ ,” Louis says before he can stop himself. Niall looks back, but Louis doesn’t stop, instead taking a step toward Harry. “You’re going back to school, especially since you promised me you would and —”

“Well, you know,” Niall says quickly, still not having moved from Harry’s gentle grip. “You can always figure that out when the time comes, I guess.”

Aiden nods, excusing himself into the kitchen as Louis crosses his arms over his chest. Harry leans his forehead against Niall’s shoulder, having to bend down slightly to reach it.

“You alright?” Niall asks, rubbing a comforting hand along Harry’s back.

“Tired,” Harry mumbles, hardly coherent. He gets like this when he’s tired, all warmth and clinging onto whoever will hold him upright.

“Zayn and I were thinking we could go get some food after this. Take Liam and go,” Niall says.

Louis looks, seeing Zayn and Liam talking near the door before Harry speaks again.

“Don’t think I wanna go out,” he answers.

“I didn’t say you had a choice in the matter, Styles,” Niall retorts.

Harry snorts, the sound muffled by the fabric of Niall’s shirt as he stands there for a moment, unmoving from Niall’s space before he sighs, loudly. “I’ll help Jay clean up a bit, then we can go, yeah?”

“Sounds good. I’ll go tell Liam and Zayn,” Niall says, giving Harry’s arse a light tap before he stalks off into the kitchen.

Louis looks back, but Niall’s already nodding in the direction of the kitchen as Louis takes that as his cue.

Jay’s at the sink, her back to Louis as he approaches her. There’s soap bubbles all along her arms, taking the back of her hand to rub at her forehead a bit as Harry picks up the towel beside her.

“You don’t have to stay, Harry love, you’ve done enough today,” Jay says.

Harry shakes his head, picking up a plate as he starts drying it wordlessly. “Is there anything else?” he asks instead.

“Not really, no. A few things left in the living room but I’ll get those tomorrow after everyone’s gone,” Jay tells him, the gentle urging that he doesn’t need to stay.

Louis stands there, feeling like a stranger in his own kitchen as Harry starts in on drying another dish. “I’ll just finish these then I’ll go,” Harry promises her.

“Fine,” Jay says, mostly in defeat. But she’s smiling, Louis sees from where he’s standing. She starts washing a cup, looking over at Harry before she sets it on the drying rack. “Saw you talking to Aiden earlier. Was nice of him to come.”

“Haven’t seen him since he left for school,” Harry says, adding another plate to his stack. “Feels a bit weird seeing him now, I guess. All things considered.”

Jay’s face softens as she turns on the tap, letting a bit more water pour into the sink as she scrapes some food into the rubbish off of a platter. “Still, though. It was good he came,” she says, voice soft.

Harry nods, doesn’t say anything else as he continues his work. It reminds Louis of when they were younger, the first time Louis had slept over at his house. It was Harry’s job to dry the dishes after dinner every night, and according to Harry’s mum, Anne, “just because Louis is here it’s no exception” which was something she’d stayed true to till the bitter end.

Louis can remember an eleven year old Harry in front of the sink, looking rather unhappy where he’d been holding a towel. He wouldn’t let Louis put away any of the dishes, nor would he let Louis dry of them. Instead he did it all himself, and had proceeded to dry them every other time Louis had come over.

He always complains about wrinkly hands afterward, scrunching his face up and holding his hands up to Louis — calling himself the Raisin Man, to which Louis always tells him that he needs to find himself another nickname.

“How are the girls?” Harry asks, taking Louis from his thoughts.

“They’re alright,” Jay says, and Louis can see more clearly now just how tired she is, the way her shoulders drop — hair nearly falling out of the bun on top of her head. “Been busy with school, mostly. But we’re alright.”

Harry doesn’t ask her any more questions, content to just stand in the silence as he finishes up. Jay takes the plug out of the sink, drying off her hands on whatever small part of Harry’s towel is less damp than the rest of it before she holds up her arms.

Without a moment’s hesitation Harry steps into her embrace, wrapping his arms around her before he pulls back. “Call me if you need anything, yeah?” he offers.

“One of these days I’ll have to take you up on that,” Jay says, half serious as she smiles, a little. “When it’s two am and one of the twins insists on having another bedtime story.”

Harry grins, dimples pressing into his cheeks and it makes Louis’ heart clench in his chest when he sees them. “Thanks for everything today,” he says.

“No trouble,” Jay says. “Now go, alright? Try and have some fun.”

Harry nods, putting the towel down as he starts out toward the door. Louis looks back at his mom, sees her wiping at her eyes as he stops.

She’s never been one for crying loudly, his mum. Instead she’s always just let the tears sort of fall, not even bothering to wipe them away where they fall down her cheeks, much like she’s doing now.

He stands in the doorway, feeling out of place and helpless before hearing Niall’s voice carrying into the kitchen before he turns, going to follow.

 

 

 

“This is the worst burger I’ve ever had,” Liam announces from the end of the table.

Zayn smirks, Niall laughing into the back of his hand as Harry shakes his head, smiling just a little where he’s got his face pressed into the back of Zayn’s shoulder.

Louis is sitting on the open spot beside Niall, no one noticing anyway when he’d taken it. Except Niall, of course, who had given Louis a look before ordering his dinner.

The car ride had been silent, save for Liam and Zayn bickering in the front seat about what they wanted to listen to. Harry had dozed off in the back seat, Niall scrolling through Twitter aimlessly on his phone the entire time.

And it had felt almost normal, then. Just another typical Saturday night for them after Louis and Niall’s football game and they’re going out for burgers.

“It’s because you put too much hot sauce on it,” Zayn says knowingly.

Niall makes a face, putting down his beer. “You can’t ever put too much hot sauce on anything,” he states.

Louis laughs, soliciting a proud sort of smile on Niall’s lips in his direction when he does. Liam looks as though he wants to agree but the hot sauce appears to be getting the better of him as he opts out for giving a thumbs up instead.

“Sure you’re not hungry?” Zayn asks Harry, holding up a crisp. “I can share, you know.”

“Big deal, that.” Niall says.

“What do you mean,” Zayn asks, though it’s not really posed as a question.

Harry smiles again, a little, looking back at Niall in a silent question to what he’d just said. “Zayn never shares food like — ever.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” Zayn says.

Niall gives him a challenging look. “You’re so full of it,” he says.

“Now now,” Liam says.

“Fuck off Payno,” Niall snaps.

“That’s rude, Ni,” Zayn chastises. “I gave you my frozen yogurt at the cinema the other weekend and you ate it all.”

“You didn’t say you wanted it back,” Niall says.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Harry says, holding up a hand. “Enough, you two. I don’t think I can hear any more of this.”

“Me neither,” Louis agrees, snorting when Niall glares at him for a split second. “You two are absolutely revolting, I’ll have you know. Going to never stop teasing either of you for it, either.”

“You have to eat, Harry,” Zayn says, the same crisp between his fingers.

Harry, with his ever so childlike tendencies, eats the crisp right from Zayn’s fingers as Niall attempts to kick him from under the table.

“Easy there, kid. Don’t wanna knock over the table,” Louis says, but he doesn’t miss Niall’s flipping him off underneath the table.

“Kind of reminds me of that time Liam hit on that waitress back when we were in school,” Harry says.

Liam groans, leaning his forehead against the table. “Not now, Harry. I’m pretty sure I just ate an entire bottle of hot sauce on that burger, I don’t need this as well.”

“What was her name again?” Niall asks, picking a crisp off of Zayn’s plate.

“Darlene?” Zayn asks. Niall and Harry shake their heads. “Darla? Diane? Denise?”

“Danielle,” Louis says.

“Danielle,” Niall follows a few seconds later, Zayn nodding toward him.

“Shit, yeah, Danielle, that’s what her name was,” Zayn says, glancing to Liam. His head’s still on the table in what looks to be utter defeat, the picture of a truly broken man at the expense of a condiment.

“What’s she doing now, anyway?” Niall asks, pointedly looking at Liam when he does.

“I fucking hate you all,” Liam says. Harry makes a sound of protest. “Except Harry, he can stay,” he adds after a moment.

“You’re just saying that because he supports your hot sauce movement,” Zayn says, only somewhat bitterly.

“No, Zayn, he’s saying it because I’m cute,” Harry argues.

Liam grunts, which could go either way as Niall leans his head back against the seat. “Pretty sure he’s saying it because of the hot sauce,” Niall says. Harry frowns.

“The word hot sauce is banned from our vocabulary until further notice,” Liam groans. 

“Damn, and I say that _so_ often,” Niall says, clutching his chest in what should be disappointment.

Liam finally lifts his head, the four of them sharing a laugh as Louis watches on, ignoring the pang in his chest as he does.

 

 

Later that night, after Zayn has to practically force-feed Harry to get him to eat a handful of crisps, and Liam spends the next twenty minutes there after complaining about his stomach ache, Niall drops Harry off.

They sit in the car for a few moments, Harry not saying anything from the front seat as Louis sits quietly. 

“Felt weird, being out,” Harry says.

“Why’s that?” Niall asks, turning to look at him.

Louis feels strangely uncomfortable, like he shouldn’t be listening as he watches Harry open his mouth to say something.

“It just — it’s not the same, without him,” Harry says.

Louis swallows, wringing his hands together as he takes in a slow, deep breath. “I know, Haz,” Niall says. “But he would want you out there, having fun.”

“I guess,” Harry says. “I just — I really fucking miss him, Niall.”

Something twists inside of Louis, making him wince when he hears Harry say it. 

“I know, Harry,” Niall says gently, because there’s not much else he can say.

“Thanks for the ride home,” Harry says, opening the door as he steps out on to the pavement just outside his house. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Niall waves, waiting till Harry’s through the front door before he starts driving again, Louis staying where he is in the back seat.

“You alright?” Niall asks, looking at Louis in the rearview mirror.

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment, wiping at his eyes furiously instead. “Fine, yeah,” he lies, but Niall doesn’t push it, just keeps driving.

 

 

“Tommo!”

It’s years earlier now, Louis realizes as he’s standing outside the change room doors, back at his old high school. Everyone’s clearing out after a football game, crowds of people moving to their cars when he sees Harry and Zayn.

They’d won, he remembers that, remembers the weightless feeling in each step he took as Zayn hugs him, then Harry. 

“Did good, yeah?” Louis asks, shaking his still wet hair from the showers. 

“Really good,” Zayn encourages.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you,” Louis teases, gripping Zayn’s shoulder gently as he rolls his eyes.

“Last time I try and be nice to you,” Zayn mutters, crossing his arms as Louis laughs.

Harry’s looking at him, the smile on his face still wide as Louis glances toward him. “What are you smiling about then?” Louis asks.

“Nothing,” Harry says quickly. “Are you coming to the party tonight?”

Louis nods. “Think so. Mum said I could have the car so,” Louis replies. “Just have to wait for Liam and Niall, if they ever come out —”

“Quit your whining, we’re here,” Niall’s voice comes from behind Louis as he elbow’s Louis’ side. 

“I can take you guys then, come on,” Louis says, starting off to his car. He looks at Harry, who’s walking beside him as they go. “Heard Laura’s going to be there tonight,” he says, quieter this time so the other three don’t hear him.

Harry looks at him, confused. “What’s that look for?” Louis asks.

“Nothing,” Harry says. “Just — I don’t know. Don’t really fancy her that much, I guess.”

“C’mon, Styles, don’t be like that,” Louis says.

Harry doesn’t say anything else as they get into Louis’ car, Niall leaning over from the back seat to fiddle with the radio as Louis tries to push him away, backing out of his parking space. 

 

Harry’s really not that difficult to miss at parties. He’s tall, for one, and usually standing somewhere with Zayn — talking with one another. Liam’s in the kitchen, flirting with a girl from his economics class. Sophia, Louis remembers. Niall’s with a bunch of people in the living room, playing beer bong and yelling loudly every few seconds so he’s not that hard to miss either.

Louis supposes being here, he could go anywhere he wanted, since he’s lived through this once. Right now Louis can see himself with Niall, opting to play a round of beer pong since Josh apparently feels sick, or that’s what Louis remembers, anyway. 

“Yeah I, um, want to study business,” he hears Liam telling Sophia, who’s watching him with a smile on her lips. Louis stands there for a moment, watching Liam fiddle with his cup of beer, almost nervously.

“Think you’d be good at that,” Sophia says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Plus, I think you’d look good in a tie.”

Liam’s blushing, Louis realises with mild amusement. “Right, well, I — yeah, a tie,” Liam answers and Louis laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Are you fucking _kidding me_ Payno, come on now,” Louis says, but it’s not like either of them can hear him. “I’ve taught you better than this.”

To save himself any more second-hand embarrassment Louis moves to Harry and Zayn, shuffling through a number of people to where they’re sitting on a couch.

Louis moves to sit on the arm of the couch, feet hanging off the edge as he listens.

“Don’t know why he’s so hung up on me and Laura,” Harry says, taking another sip of his drink.

Louis pauses, brows furrowing as Zayn looks at him. “He just wants you to be happy, Harry,” Zayn says.

Harry laughs, leaning his head back against the couch and he stays like that for a few moments, not saying anything as Louis watches him. “I know that,” Harry says, rubbing his face. “He’s my best friend, Zayn.”

“Also a bit oblivious,” Zayn says, which solicits a smile from Harry in response.

“It’s fine, it’s —” Harry pauses, exhaling loudly, “fine.”

“Seems like it,” Zayn says sarcastically as he flicks at one of Harry’s curls. “You sound completely fine about the whole thing.”

“Fuck you,” Harry says, with something that should be considered an angry expression across his face. 

 

 

“You alright?” Niall’s voice pulls him back now, a concerned look on his face. “Looks like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Ha, ha,” Louis deadpans, flicking Niall’s arm. Or, tries too, anyway.

They’re back at Niall’s house, in his room as Louis looks around. Niall doesn’t move, on his bed as he checks his phone.

“Do you remember that party we went too, after that one football game?” Louis finally asks, deciding against his better judgement to ask.

Niall looks up at him, putting his phone down as he sits up slowly. “Do you know how many parties we went to in high school, Lou?” he asks.

Louis shakes his head, looking down at the floor for a moment before he speaks again. “It was our last year. Or — my last year, I guess, me and Zayn’s,” he clarifies, “after our first match, we won.”

Niall blinks, thinking for a moment until — “the one at Jade’s?” he asks.

Louis nods. “Yeah, that one,” he says.

“What about it?” Niall asks.

Louis settles on sitting on the floor, tucking his legs under one another as he looks at Niall for a moment. “I — went there, I guess. Or I was in that memory, sort of,” he says. Niall doesn’t respond, just waits, so Louis continues. “And I mentioned Laura and Harry was — mad. I didn’t know he was mad.”

Niall’s expression changes, for just a moment, before he busies himself with kicking his covers off his legs. “He wasn’t mad,” he says.

Louis raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “What was he, then?”

“He was —” Niall starts, tossing his phone against his mattress somewhere along his bed. “Annoyed, I s'pose? I don’t know,” he finishes.

“That’s a shit answer, Horan and you know it,” Louis snaps, rubbing his thumb along the carpet of Niall’s floor.

“Look, I’m not going to sit here and tell you everything,” Niall says. “You’ve got to figure it out yourself; I’m not going to lay it all out for you.”

Louis groans, leaning back so his back is flat against the floor. “Always making my life difficult, aren’t you?” he asks.

Niall doesn’t answer, instead just shifts where he’s sitting as Louis lets his eyes close.

 

 

“It’s _tradition_ , Louis.”

“Can’t we break it just this once?” Louis asks. He’s sitting on the couch, back in his second year of high school. He can tell it’s his second year because of his bright red pants; a colour he had taken a liking to then, Louis thinks with small shake of his head.

Harry’s giving Louis a stern look. “It’s always Love Actually, crisps, and mint chocolate chip ice cream.” He says. “What would you want to change about that?”

Louis sighs, dramatically, kicking his legs out to rest on the table in front of him. “Alright, alright,” Louis says, giving in as he watches Harry put the movie in into the dvd player. “Guess we can’t go breaking traditions, then.”

Harry, seemingly content, moves to sit beside Louis on the couch. “You always take up so much space,” Harry mutters, shooting a glare toward Louis as he says it.

Louis scoffs, leaning back as he spreads his legs out a bit further, just to piss Harry off. “Must you always find something to complain about?” he teases, poking at Harry’s cheek.

From where Louis is sitting, now, unseen by the two of them he notices the way Harry’s cheeks flush, just a little, as they had in his bedroom years later. He pauses, watching as Harry shifts slightly, trying to get comfortable as the opening soundtrack plays.

“What, you’re not going to quote the whole thing this year?” Louis asks when Harry’s mouth doesn’t move at the opening line.

Harry glances toward him. “Didn’t think you’d like that,” he answers.

Louis gives him a look, nudging Harry’s knee with his own. “It’s my favourite part of this whole ordeal you force me to sit through every year,” he says.

Harry grins, bright with dimples and all as they settle in.

Louis watches where he is across the room, not paying attention to the film anymore. Harry’s mumbling the lines, past Louis laughing quietly beside him and Louis misses it. Misses Harry, he realizes.

“Hugh Grant or Colin Firth?” Harry asks, putting a crisp into his mouth.

Louis opens his mouth, then closes it, blinking for a moment before he responds. To be fair, Louis reasons with his past self, it is a rather big question.

“Grant,” Louis answers.

Harry makes a face. “I can’t believe this,” he says.

Louis rolls his eyes, feeling Harry press his face into his shoulder, all warmth and close as he shakes his head. “Sorry to have let you down, Styles.”

It goes on like that through the rest of the film. Harry saying something, Louis teasing him and then ending with him apologizing to stop Harry’s incessant pouting.

But it doesn’t explain why Harry had been so mad, and it doesn’t explain anything else, Louis thinks as he watches them.

Though what he does notice, before he blinks and finds himself in front of Niall’s door, is the way Harry’s hand stops beside Louis’ own, almost as if he’s hesitating —

 

 

 

“Niall, you have some explaining to do —” Louis starts but stops when he enters Niall’s room.

It’s a bit of a good thing Zayn can’t see him because right now he’s got his lips around Niall’s cock, Niall breathing heavily as Louis freezes where he’s standing. “You know what, shit, I’m going —”

“ _Shit_ ,” Niall breathes, now hearing Louis’ voice as his eyes widen, waving his arm furiously toward the door.

“What the fuck —” Louis doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t want to be in that room a moment longer than he has to until he’s out into the hallway.

For a moment he hopes Niall doesn’t follow, but then there’s the sound of the door and Niall’s motioning for him to go downstairs. Louis doesn’t say anything, just watches Niall until they’re in the kitchen alone, the rest of the house dark.

“Alright, so, we’re never talking about _that_ again,” Niall says, cheeks flushed as he looks at Louis. Louis nods.

“I’m quite alright with that,” Louis says, rubbing a hand along his face. 

“What were you talking about?” Niall asks, apparently not in the mood for the subject lingering on his and his boyfriend’s sex life.

“You mean before I —” Niall groans into his hands, not moving, so Louis continues. “I think — Harry tried to hold my hand.”

Niall, now more interested, removes his hands from in front of his face as he looks at Louis. “When?” he asks.

Louis shifts, tugging down the sleeve of his jumper. “When I was in second year? We were watching Love Actually in his basement and — I don’t know. I might’ve imagined it,” Louis says.

Niall is quiet for a moment, leaning against the counter. He looks tired, Louis thinks for a moment, wondering if that’s because of him or just because he works himself too hard. 

“Do you think you imagined it?” Niall asks, turning to pick up an apple on the counter.

Louis bites his lower lip, considering. “Don’t feel like I imagined it, no,” he says.

Niall takes a bite of his apple, a bit of juice running down his chin before he swipes it away with his thumb. “Which would mean…” he trails off, looking at Louis pointedly.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Louis snaps, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t know what that would fucking mean, Niall. He’s my best friend.”

Niall’s face softens as he nods, once, taking another bite of his apple. “So you wouldn’t be okay with it?”

Louis doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes to starting to count the number of tiles on the kitchen floor. Seems better than trying to figure out the thoughts going on his head, he thinks to himself. Niall makes a sound, impatient.

“I’m not sure,” Louis says, slowly.

“Well, figure it out then,” Niall says. He gives Louis a small smile, which he supposes he should find reassuring but doesn’t, watching as he starts walking out of the kitchen. “And get back to me, yeah?”

Louis sighs, shrugging. “Sure, yeah, whatever. Go enjoy your boyfriend,” he says. And if he sounds a little bitter, then so be it.

Niall just winks, starting up the stairs and suddenly it’s just Louis again, in the kitchen. And decidedly not wanting to stick around for a sequel to what he’d seen earlier he steps outside, starting down the street.

The sky’s dark, a bit of snow on the ground as he puts his hands in his pockets. It’s only about a twenty minute walk to Harry’s, a route he knows all too well.

He could go home, but a part of him knows he’s not ready to do that, not quite yet, so instead he keeps walking. 

Anne always keeps everything in order, even in the winter, Louis remembers as he walks up the familiar front garden. There’s a car he doesn’t recognize in the driveway, and he it’s Gemma’s as he stops at the door.

There’s voices inside, which makes Louis a bit curious as he pushes into their home. The hallway is empty, along with the living room, but once he reaches the kitchen there’s a number of people there.

Anne’s sitting at the island, a glass of wine at hand — Robin beside her, and they’re looking over something Louis can’t see from where he’s standing. Harry’s across from them, chin resting on his open hands, elbows resting on the countertop as Gemma laughs at something Anne says.

“You were sort of a weird looking baby,” Gemma says, pinching Harry’s cheek.

“Heyyyyy,” Harry drawls, and it’s so familiar that an ache comes to Louis’ chest when he hears it.

“He was not weird, Gemma, be nice,” Anne says firmly, but Louis doesn’t miss the way the corner of her mouth lifts into a smile. “His dimples were what sold me, I think.”

Harry glances up at her, a look of offense on his features as he does. “You weren’t sold on me before that?” he asks.

Anne laughs, quietly, looking at him. “Don’t be like that,” she says.

Gemma sticks her tongue at him, flipping through another page in the album. Harry’s wearing a jumper that’s far too big for him, running a hand through his curls. Louis watches him for a moment. 

As they go through another album, however, Harry pauses. Louis watches his expression drop as he takes in a deep breath, Anne looking up at him.

“I think — that’s enough for now,” she says after a while.

Gemma gives Harry a look, squeezing his elbow before she turns to put some water in the kettle. Louis moves then, walking towards the island to look at what had suddenly changed the mood.

It's a picture of him and Harry, just after Louis had spent an afternoon with Harry, teaching him how to play football. Or, trying to teach him, Louis remembers. 

Harry’s brows are drawn together as his gaze lingers on the picture before he turns back to Gemma, who’s asking him what kind of tea he wants.

“Are you hungry?” Anne asks, brushing a curl off Harry’s forehead.

“Not really,” Harry says. “Gonna have some tea and sleep, I think.”

So they shuffle around, Robin going off to watch something on television, Anne staying in the kitchen while Harry drinks his tea silently.

“You’d think after all the time he spent teaching me how to play I would’ve been at least somewhat good,” Harry says, breaking a silence that’s settled between the three of them.

Anne gives him a sad smile, Gemma shrugging her shoulders in silent agreement, coming to sit beside him at the island.

“You were always rubbish at football, Harry, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Louis tells him, patting Harry’s hand.

Harry pauses to look down at his hand. He doesn’t move, as he turns to look beside him. And for a moment, just a brief one, Louis wonders if Harry can maybe, possibly, see him until —

“I’m going to finish the show with Robin then go to bed,” Anne says. Harry's looking at her now, the moment gone. “Get some sleep, alright?”

“Night, mum,” Harry says as she kisses the top of his head, then Gemma’s, and leaves the kitchen. 

Gemma’s looking at him, not bothering to finish her tea as she slowly stands. “Are you gonna be okay if I go upstairs?” she asks.

“I’ll be fine,” Harry says. “Don’t worry about me.”

Gemma doesn’t look convinced, but she also doesn’t argue, ruffling Harry’s hair before she goes out the door, her footsteps carrying up the stairs.

Harry sits nearly still, eyes turned down to look at his tea as he stirs his spoon around the mug. Louis wonders if he should leave, considering, until —

“Louis?”

It hits him, hearing Harry say his name in the stillness of the room. Louis watches him, doesn’t move where he’s standing in the middle of the kitchen.

Harry’s in the doorway, as if waiting. But Louis doesn’t say anything, instead just presses his lips together and watches as Harry goes back up the stairs without so much as another word.

“Shit,” Louis breathes out, hands shaking. “Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.”

 

 

They’re halfway through third year, in Niall’s back garden on a Friday night. Louis watches his past self sitting in a chair beside Niall, Zayn, and Liam in front of a fire.

It’s the annual Horan Bonfire at his house, hosted once a year and joined by a lot of people — all wandering Niall’s backyard, the air a bit cold as Louis pulls his jacket closer around his body.

“So. He brought her, did he?” Louis asks, rubbing his hands together.

Niall frowns, kicking at Louis’ foot. “You’re the one who told him he should ask her out,” he points out.

“Yeah, but this is a bonfire, Ni. Not a chance to stand around and flirt with some girl you brought with while your best friends sit by a fire,” Louis says.

Zayn snorts, looking at Louis as he leans back in his chair. “You’re sure that’s it?” Zayn asks.

“What else would it be?” Louis asks, tossing a small piece of a stick into the fire. It crackles, bright as he watches it before it turns to ashes, sinking.

“Sounds like you’re a bit jealous, to be honest,” Liam pipes in.

“I’m not _jealous_ ,” Louis defends, tone sharp. None of them look convinced. “If you’re all going to sit around and accuse me of being jealous, of all things, then I’m going to go get another drink.”

“Have fun,” Niall calls after him, but Louis ignores him, instead making his way toward the nearest cooler without another word.

It’s late April, the air colder — but not so compared to winter, thankfully, just cool enough for a jumper and a light jacket. Louis opens the lid and takes out a beer. He takes the lid off, putting it into his pocket as he takes a sip.

Mostly cold, he thinks to himself as he swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He can make out the outlines of most of his peers, conversation and laughter floating around him as he leans against the edge of the deck. 

“Lou?”

He turns, slightly, to see Harry a few feet away. Louis tips his bottle toward him, forcing a wide smile before he says “cheers, H.”

Harry takes a step closer, now more clearly visible in the light coming from the deck. Louis swallows. “Had enough of the fire?” Harry asks, though he’s smiling. 

Louis wants to wipe that smile off his lips. “Bit warm for my liking,” Louis answers simply.

“Really? Because you look a little cold,” Harry observes, nodding to where Louis’ shoulders are shaking a little.

“It’s nothing. That’s nothing,” Louis lies, taking another long, extended sip of his drink.

Harry’s looking at him when he lowers his bottle. “Yes, Styles?” Louis asks. “It’s rude to stare, you know.”

“Something wrong?” Harry finally asks.

Louis clears his throat, shrugging. He doesn’t answer right away, instead takes to fiddling with the zip on his jacket — finding that a bit more interesting than avoiding Harry’s question. 

“Nothing at all,” Louis says.

When he looks up again Harry’s there, just in front of him, though a bit closer now — looming with his height and, _Christ_ , he is tall, isn’t he? Louis thinks to himself.

He takes a step towards Harry despite himself, nearly somehow tripping over his own two feet. Harry immediately reaches out — steadying Louis’ elbows with his always warm touch.

“I think you’re lying,” Harry says.

“Well, that’s none of your concern, isn’t it?” Louis asks, poking an accusatory finger into Harry’s chest once, twice. “And besides, don’t you have a date to attend to?”

A knowing look comes to Harry’s face as he laughs, quietly. “She’s not my date,” he says, as if this was supposed to be clear as fucking day.

“Came here with you, didn’t she?” Louis asks. Harry nods. “Sat with you and ate dinner, didn’t she?” Harry nods a second time. “You brought her drinks, did you not?” A third and final nod as Louis blinks. “Then there you have it. It’s a date, Harry, not rocket science.”

Louis makes an attempt to move, decidedly wanting to go back to the fire and sulk some more until Harry speaks again.

“She wants to get back at her ex boyfriend.”

Louis looks at him, brows furrowed. “She — _what_?”

His brain is fuzzy; he isn’t processing this right, Louis thinks as Harry sighs. “Laura. She — knew her ex was going to be here, so she asked if we could go and I don’t know, piss him off a bit.”

“Did it work?” Louis asks, arms crossed over his chest.

Harry shrugs. “Don’t know. Not really concerned about that bit, if I’m being honest,” he says.

Louis gives him a look, holding up a hand to keep some sort of distance between them; though that’s mostly due to the fact that he doesn’t trust himself.

“Well, aren’t you a good pal,” Louis says.

Harry ducks his head. He's gotten closer now; Louis tries to scoff at him. “Are you done sulking for the night? Will you let me sit with you now?” Harry asks.

“I wasn’t _sulking_ ,” Louis says.

Harry raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Whatever you say, Louis,” he says, with a sort of satisfied grin on his face.

“Wipe that smug look off your face or I won’t let you sit with us,” Louis says, attempting to sound firm as they walk back to Niall, Zayn, and Liam.

“Wasn’t smug,” Harry says, at Louis’ side as they walk.

“Fucking were too,” Louis says, but Harry drops the subject, instead asking about something or other that gets Louis laughing loudly until they’re back in their seats.

But here, watching, Louis sees Harry’s hand hovering over the small of Louis’ back cautiously, just in case he were to stumble, or fall.

 

 

They’re in Niall’s house, late one night when there’s a knock at the door.

It’s just the two of them again, Niall’s parents asleep upstairs. Louis looks up from where they’re sitting at the table. “Zayn?” Louis asks.

Niall shakes his head. “Can’t be. He’s got a family dinner, or something,” Niall answers, confused.

He walks towards the door and there's a sense of dread inside Louis when he finally opens it and there’s Harry.

“Harry?” Niall asks. “Are you alright? It’s almost one am.”

Harry shakes his head, not saying anything as he steps inside. Niall looks to Louis, uncertain, as Harry stares at Niall.

“Is he here?” Harry asks.

Niall pauses. “Is who here?”

“Don’t fuck around, Niall,” Harry snaps.

“I’m not fucking around, you’re the one not making any sense right now,” Niall says.

Neither of them say anything as Louis watches. He doesn't get up from the table as he takes in a deep breath. Harry’s eyes are puffy, in the way Louis knows that means he’s been crying, he thinks to himself silently.

“Louis,” Harry says, eyes moving to look at Niall again. “Is he here?”

Niall licks his lips, hands on his hips as he rubs a hand along his face. He takes a step back from Harry, shoulders sagging as he picks up his nearly finished mug of tea. 

“You should go home, Harry. Sleep a bit maybe,” Niall says.

But Harry’s determined, apparently, as he moves to now stand in front of Niall — completely blocking his path into the kitchen.

“I felt him, the other night. I felt him touch me,” Harry says.

Louis freezes, feeling uncomfortable as he takes in a sharp breath. He hadn’t told Niall about that. Hadn’t mentioned it at all, actually, that he’d even gone to Harry’s.

But Niall knows better than to look at Louis right now, pushing past Harry and moving into the kitchen to put his mug in the sink. He turns on the tap, letting the water rinse the cup before he turns back to look at Harry.

“I know it’s been a long few months, Harry, and I know that you miss him but you can’t just —”

“I’m not making this up,” Harry interrupts Niall now, voice firm. “I know when he’s there, Niall, I’ve been friends with him practically my whole life. He was there. I know he was.”

Louis slowly moves to stand in the doorway to the kitchen hugging his arms around his middle. Niall can see him now, just behind Harry and Louis can see the way his expression changes — dropping just slightly. 

“What — did it feel like,” Niall asks, sounding tired.

Harry’s hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white as he lets out a breath. “Cold, I guess, I don’t know. But it was him.”

“You’ve said that,” Niall says, rubbing at his eyes. Harry doesn’t say anything, unmoving where he’s standing, feet planted firm.

And for a moment Louis wonders if Niall’s going to tell him, or if he’s hesitating for Harry’s sake, not wanting to let him get wrapped up in this —

“He’s not — here, well, he is, I don’t know,” Niall says slowly. “I saw him, or the first time I saw him was when we had that service, at Jay’s house.”

“So you can see him?” Harry asks. “Where is he right now?”

Niall looks at Louis then as Harry turns, just slightly, staring just about where Louis is. He pauses, taking a small step forward. “He’s here?”

Niall nods. Harry doesn’t say anything, just stares.

“Can he hear me?” he asks.

“Yeah, I can fucking hear him,” Louis says. 

Niall laughs, quietly, eyes watery when Louis gets a good look at him. “Says that yes, he can fucking hear you.”

Harry rolls his eyes, laughing to himself for a moment. Louis isn’t sure what he’s going to do next but he just holds out his hand, palm up. Louis stares at it, unsure what to do as he glances to Niall briefly.

“Harry?” Niall asks.

“Just — I want to make sure,” Harry explains.

Niall gives Louis a nod. Louis takes in a deep breath, tries to steady the way his heart is pounding in his chest as he takes another step towards Harry now.

It's quiet, no one saying anything as Louis allows himself to reach out and touch Harry. It’s so instinctive to him, even now, having Harry close and reaching out to touch him. Louis has missed it, he realizes as he lets his hand rest where Harry’s is.

Harry shivers as soon as Louis does. Niall watches on as Louis lets it linger there for a moment before pulling back, his whole body feeling as though it’s shaking.

“Shit,” Harry breathes, taking his hand back.

“I know,” Niall says, smiling a little. “Believe me, I know.”

“Is he just — always there?” Harry asks.

“I can still hear you, you know,” Louis says, leaning against the cupboard beside the fridge.

Niall gives Louis a look before looking back at Harry. “Sometimes. Not really consistently, though. Mostly just comes in and out,” he says.

Harry rubs the back of his neck, looking to his left — as if blindly looking for where Louis is. “Where does he go?”

“Memories to see your sorry arse,” Louis says. “Though I haven’t a fucking clue why.”

“Just — places,” Niall answers, censoring Louis’ words rather well.

Louis rolls his eyes, watching as Harry shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “But this is good then, right? Means he isn’t completely gone from us?”

Niall gets that watery look to his eyes again as he nods, once. “Guess so, yeah,” he says.

“So what are we going to do?” Harry asks.

“Wait it out, I guess. Nothing much else we can do, Harry,” Niall answers.

Harry shakes his head, apparently not alright with this answer as he takes a step backwards, slowly.

“There has to be _something_ ,” he says, sounding almost desperate.

“Can we all just fucking go to bed?” Louis asks, clapping his hands together.

“It’s — Harry, it’s almost two am. We’re not going to figure this all out right now,” Niall says carefully.

Harry sighs, because Niall’s right, they all know that. “Okay, okay,” he relents, cheeks flushed as he holds up his hands. “I’m — gonna go, then.”

“Are you going to be okay? You can stay here with me, if you want. For the night, or whatever. I’m sure Maura would love to have you,” Niall says.

Louis scoffs. “As _if_ Harry’s her favourite. She adores me.”

Niall ignores him, as has become a habit with him these past number of weeks as they walk back to the door. 

“All this time,” Harry says, leaning against the door, hand on the handle. “All this time and he’s — been here.”

Niall clasps Harry’s shoulder, briefly, before letting it go. “Get some sleep, Haz.”

Harry gives him a small, sad smile. “Night, Ni.”

As the door closes Louis is sure he sees a tear on Niall’s cheek. He doesn’t comment on it, just follows him silently down the hallway to Niall’s room.

 

 

 

May twenty-first of his fourth and final year of high school is a night Louis has issues remembering.

He remembers waking up that day, he remembers graduating with Zayn, but it’s mostly after he gets to the party at Niall’s house do things get — fuzzy, so to speak.

He’s here now, though, watching his past self drink excessively, talking loudly with all the people around him. Liam’s at his side at one point, laughing at something Louis had said where they’re standing in a crowded kitchen.

The thing is, when you graduate from school, you feel as though you can do anything. Like the entire world is right there in front of you, at your fingertips for you to take and make your own. And that’s how Louis felt that day, standing in the kitchen Niall’s house. Like he could do anything.

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been as drunk as was that night, watching himself sway and stumble around — hanging off Zayn’s waist at some point, talking with him and Niall between games of beer pong.

“Where’s Harry?” Louis asks. “Can’t find him anywhere.”

“Went upstairs, I think. Said he was going to lay down, or something,” Zayn answers with a shrug.

Louis shakes his head. “That won’t do. I’m a high school graduate, for God’s sake, he should be out here celebrating with me.”

It’s almost as if he’s not watching himself, Louis thinks to himself as his past self tries to make his way toward the stairs. Someone calls his name as he starts climbing the stairs but Louis is apparently very determined and very drunk and he just waves in response, getting up to the next floor.

Louis follows behind himself, unsure of what else to do, really. 

“Harry? Harry, where are you?” Louis calls out, hitting the doors rather loudly.

One of the doors is locked and Louis figures it's a better idea to keep that closed as he continues walking, knocking loudly as he does. It’s not until he reaches the end of the hall, however, that he finally finds Harry.

He’s in one of the bedrooms, on the floor and looks up as Louis appears in the doorway.

Louis winces as he watches his past self nearly fall onto the ground, laughing as Harry moves, quick to help him sit on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks. “You’re so fucking loud when you drink, _Christ_.”

Louis scoffs, making himself more comfortable as he leans against the bed. “Came looking for you,” he says simply. “Why are you hiding?”

Harry frowns. “Wasn’t hiding,” he says.

Louis smiles, a little, poking at Harry’s cheek. “Were too. Was it because you didn’t want to lose another round of beer pong?”

“Figured I wouldn’t play and save you the chance of losing,” Harry says, grinning as Louis rolls his eyes.

“Fuck off, you’re not even that good,” Louis says, pushing Harry’s face away from him.

It’s quiet for a few moments, neither of them speaking as Louis sighs, looking at Harry again. “Come back to me,” Louis says, voice not as loud anymore.

Harry shifts, looking back toward Louis. He pauses for a moment, as if hesitating for whatever reason. “I wasn’t anywhere,” he says.

“You looked like you were somewhere else,” Louis says. “Where else would you rather be, than here with me? Drunken, little old me?”

“You did graduate high school, so I guess that officially makes you old,” Harry teases gently.

Louis makes a face, moving his hand to try and poke at Harry’s cheek again. Harry’s apparently more sober than Louis as he takes a gentle hold of Louis’ wrist, Harry's hand warm against his skin as he does. 

He half expects Harry to let go but he doesn’t, instead lowering their hands as he rests them against his thigh — his thumb running along the inside of Louis’ wrist.

Louis pauses, swallowing, as he looks down at the contact for a moment — apparently trying to put the pieces together in his drunken, hazy head. 

“Harry, what —”

“Louis,” Harry says slowly, quietly, and it’s so much at once that Louis knows this is serious, then.

He’s not sober enough for this, he’s definitely not sober enough for this as he watches Harry — feels the way his thumb continues to trace slow, steady circles against Louis’ skin. 

Louis wants to ask, wants to know but he can’t bring himself to say the words because he knows that once Harry says it, there’s no taking it back. They’re on the edge of something else now; that’s more than best friends — much more than what they have now.

“You’re my best friend,” Harry starts, and Louis feels his chest tighten. 

“Are we just stating facts here, or —” Louis interrupts but Harry shakes his head and it’s enough to get Louis to stop as he waits for Harry to keep talking instead.

“I’ve known you since I was eleven, Louis,” Harry starts again. Louis tries to steady his breathing, focusing on Harry’s soft touch as he leans his head back — trying to get everything to stop spinning, just for a moment. “And you’ve been there through so many things and I — I love you.”

Louis smiles, a little, feeling something relax in what he can assume to be relief. “Yes, well, I love you too, Harry, now stop being a sap so I can get back to the party, alright? I might even let you win another round of beer pong.”

Harry shakes his head. “It’s more than that.”

Louis stops moving, heart pounding loudly in his chest. He tells himself that he needs to keep calm as he looks to Harry once more.

“Harry, Harry, you can’t — do this. You can’t say it because once you say it we can’t go back, don't you know that? What we have right now, it’s good. Hell, it’s — almost perfect, isn’t it? We’re best friends. You’re my best friend. You’re that one person I want to have here, no matter what. Isn’t that enough? Shouldn’t that _be_ enough?”

“Even if I don’t — Louis, even if I don’t say it, it’s still there, isn’t it?” Harry asks.

Louis shakes his head, eyes stinging and his head fucking pounding as he removes his wrist from Harry’s touch. “No, it’s not. We can’t —”

“We can’t what, Louis. What can’t we do,” Harry asks, nearly snapping at him.

“It’s not going to end well, you have to know that. And then what do we do? Go back to being friends? We can’t do that, Harry, it’s not possible,” Louis says, doing his best to keep his words from slurring together and trying to find a way to properly say this, out loud, although it feels like every part of him is screaming at him not to say it. 

“How do you know that?” Harry says, his voice cracking. 

Louis feels trapped, as if he’s gotten pulled into having this conversation but he’s not ready — he’s never really been ready to have it.

“I just — I _know_ , it’s not going to work out,” Louis says.

“But you feel the same way? About me?” 

Louis blinks for a moment, holding his eyes shut tight and letting a few warm tears run down his cheeks. “It doesn’t matter, Harry. That doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. It matters the most.” Harry insists. 

Louis rubs the heels of his hands at his eyes, feeling warm and cold all over as he tries to let himself fucking breathe for a moment. “No, it doesn’t.”

When he finally takes his hands off his eyes Harry’s looking at him. Louis doesn’t move, although he should when he sees Harry start to move closer towards him.

It’s everything he’s wanted, Louis then realizes, having Harry this close to him, with nothing holding them back. 

“You love me too, don’t you?” Harry asks.

Louis doesn’t answer, instead surging forward to kiss Harry — taking himself and Harry by surprise when he does.

It’s messy, a mixture of mouths and panting and tongues and it’s all blur in Louis’ head but he knows, he fucking _knows_ that this is what he’s wanted for so fucking long, but hasn’t let himself want it.

Harry kisses Louis back as if he wasn’t made to do anything else. Their teeth clang together as Louis tries to get them as close as they can get here, on the floor of someone’s bedroom he doesn’t know.

And Louis loves him. He loves Harry so fucking much that it hurts, physically aches in his chest because he knows — has known since the moment he saw Harry; green eyes and brown hair and that big, wide smile. Louis has always known, deep down, that he’s loved Harry.

Almost like he was meant to. Or made too.

But despite that he pulls away, pulls away from Harry’s lips and Harry’s warmth. But then Harry’s there, reeling him back him — hands gentle on Louis’ wrist as he shakes his head.

“Louis — Louis, don’t — run away from this,” Harry finally manages to say. “Don’t run away from me, please,” he adds, voice quieter and that’s when something in Louis breaks.

Louis tastes Harry and salt from his tears as he shakes his head, his whole body trembling and his chest feeling as though it’s going to explode and cave in all at once. He doesn’t know what to hold onto so he holds onto Harry, grips the fabric of his shirt, leaning their foreheads together. 

They stay like that for a while; Louis doesn’t know how long as he wants so badly, so so badly to lean in again but every time he tries he just brushes Harry’s nose against his own, not letting himself back over that line again. But he wants to. Everything inside of him wants to, except that part of him that is telling him no, no, no, don’t.

“I can’t — lose you, Harry,” Louis breathes out, feeling Harry’s breath against his face, warm and making his heart ache all over again.

“You’re not going to lose me. I’m right here, I’m _right here_ , Louis. I’m not going anywhere,” Harry promises, and Louis wants to believe him so fucking badly.

“We can’t, we can’t — Harry, we can’t,” Louis starts, not able to stop the words from coming out of his mouth; they just seem to keep tumbling out.

“I don’t know if I can just be friends with you, Louis.”

Louis blinks knowing that he has to leave now or else he never will. He forces himself to stand. 

“I’m so — Harry, I’m so, drunk, and I can’t — I have to go,” Louis says, moving towards the door.

“Louis —” Harry starts but stops, doesn’t say anything as Louis glances back to him.

And he should stay — everything inside of him is telling him to stay, but no part of Louis allows himself to do that . Instead he leaves, closing the door behind himself as he goes.

 

Coincidentally, the last person Louis wants to see is the first one he does see.

“How did you figure it out?” Niall asks Harry. They’re sitting outside, in Harry’s back garden.

“Figure what out?” Harry asks, looking at Niall.

Louis doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. Niall looks at him, briefly, before turning back towards Harry. 

“You know —” Niall starts, but Harry’s still giving him a confused look as he sighs. “About Louis.”

Harry shrugs, leaning back against his chair. “You didn’t talk about him anymore. Or, not really, anyway.”

Louis waits, Niall not saying anything before he nods, slowly. “Bit hard to talk about him when he’s still here, I guess,” he says finally.

Harry looks down, at his lap, as Louis watches him for a few moments. It’s the first time Louis has seen him since he’d been in that room, back all those years ago. And he still looks young — his hair a mess of curls, pulled back with a headscarf with his hands folded in his lap.

“Is he here now?” Harry asks.

Niall doesn’t look at Louis, instead takes another drink of his beer. “Yeah, just across the table.”

Harry isn’t looking quite at Louis, but he’s staring in his general direction — eyes not focusing on nothing for more than a few seconds, as if still looking for him. 

“I want to talk to him — or, you. I want to talk to you, Louis.”

Niall’s looking at him now, pausing when he apparently notices the uncertainty on Louis’ expression. “I don’t — think that’s the best idea,” Niall says slowly.

“Why not?” Harry asks.

Louis licks his lips, Niall not looking away from him once as he runs a hand through his hair. “I went back — to my graduation night,” he says.

Niall’s eyes widen as he mutters a quiet “shit,” and proceeds to take another sip of his beer. 

“What?” comes Harry’s question as Louis tenses, just a little.

“Nothing, just — nothing,” Niall says quickly. “It’s up to you, though,” he adds, this time directed just at Louis.

Harry doesn’t keep speaking like Louis thought he might, both him and Niall looking at him across the table as Louis takes in a deep breath. He should say no, or, he really wants to say no. 

“Alright,” Louis says. “Alright, yeah, we can — talk.”

Niall just nods. Harry looks weirdly nervous, about as nervous as Louis feels when Niall stands. “I’ll just — go, inside,” he says awkwardly, stepping through the door.

Harry looks where abouts Louis is, pausing before he gets a thoughtful look on his features. God, Louis misses him, he thinks to himself before Harry starts talking again.

“I’m going to go get some paper, yeah? I’ll be right back,” Harry promises, opening the door and stepping inside.

It’s about a minute till Harry comes back out, a pad of paper in his hands as he sits down. “You can, um, sit here, if you want,” he says, motioning to the chair beside him.

Louis moves, walking and sitting beside Harry as he waits.

“Hi,” Harry starts, almost shyly.

“Hi,” Louis parrots back, even though Harry can’t hear him.

Harry starts writing then, his brows knit together in concentration as Louis waits, hands folded in his lap. 

And after a few minutes, he pushes it back toward Louis. 

“Still can hardly read your writing, you know,” Louis tells him, before turning and focusing his eyes on the page.

_I don’t know how to say this out loud, I guess? I mean I thought about it over and over and tried to come up with something but nothing really fit._

_But it’s just, one thing. One thing I keep coming back to, no matter what I tell myself — no matter how I try to spin it, it comes back to this, this one fucking thing._

_I thought it would be me. I thought that if anyone in this whole world would be able to see you, I thought it was going to be me._

Louis pauses, swallowing as he feels a lump start to rise in his throat. But he continues reading regardless, biting down on his lower lip to try and keep himself calm now.

_I want it to be me, I want it to be so badly, Louis. I don’t know why it wasn’t me, I don’t get why it wasn’t me because you’re that one person that I — that I need in this world, I guess._

_I just — I thought it would be me._

Louis stares at it for a little while longer, unsure of what to do. 

“That’s not fair, Harry,” Louis says, voice shaking, even though he’s the only one who can hear it.

“I don’t — I don’t know, what you’re thinking but I just —” Harry starts and Louis starts to feel angry, then, listening to him. “I miss you, Louis, I miss you so fucking much that I — I don’t know, fuck, I feel so lost, without you, and I know that doesn’t make sense —”

“It doesn’t, actually,” Louis cuts him off, sharply. Or he would cut Harry off, if he could hear Louis, but instead Harry keeps going.

“But I’m happy you’re around, that you’re still here even if I can’t — see you, or touch you, or hear you. You’re still here,” Harry continues, and Louis ignores the way his hands grip the edge of his chair, trying to anchor himself in something now as he listens. “You know what I always thought?”

Louis shakes his head because he doesn’t know. “I always thought we were kind of — soulmates, I don’t know, I don’t know if that’s even possible. Maybe it was this dumb idea I’d gotten from a book I’d read when I was younger but, it’s not important now I guess, because it’s not true. I should’ve seen that before, before all this because we’ve been apart for a while, haven’t we? We haven’t really talked about it, but I think we both know.”

Louis wants to reach out, just for a moment, and touch Harry’s hand, his cheek, touch some part of Harry but Louis stays perfectly still, not giving in.

“And fuck, how scary is that? That I might lose you, or am already halfway losing you, it's fucking terrifying and awful and — I can’t do that, Louis, I can’t lose you,” Harry says, and his voice is trembling again, shaking and wavering and it makes Louis’ heart hurt just by hearing it. “I still love you. Fuck, I still love you — I don’t think I’ve ever stopped, to be honest. Even when you left for school, even when that fucked up night happened after you graduated I haven’t been able to stop myself. I don’t know how. I just know how to love you, Louis.”

Louis’ eyes are starting to blur as he shakes his head, tries to keep himself calm as he tastes a bit of blood where his teeth are still pressing into his lower lip.

“When we were little I guess, it was easier. Everyone always says that stupid shit but it’s true, I think. It was easier to be who we are, and it was easier to keep us together,” Harry’s still talking and Louis isn’t sure how to make his head stop spinning.

“But we’re not soulmates then. We’re not anything — we’re not even who we were, Louis, I don’t think we know how to be those people anymore. And I hate that I fucking — I hate it so much, that we’ve forgotten, or that we let ourselves forget, or that we let it go.”

“I just — thought it would be me. I thought that even after we grew apart and after you told me we couldn’t be together; even after we weren’t Harry and Louis or Louis and Harry anymore, I thought it would be me and it fucking —” Harry’s standing now, kicking at the ground and Louis isn’t sure what to do, because he’s here, he’s watching Harry unravel right in front of him and there’s not a thing he can do to stop it. 

“I was so fucking dumb and _stupid_ because I thought it would be me. And you know what?” his voice is rising now, getting louder and louder and louder than Louis has ever heard him talk, even after years of knowing each other, it’s never been like this.

“IT WASN’T FUCKING _ME_ , LOUIS.”

He punches a wall, immediately letting out a cry of pain. Louis stands, moves quickly to go beside Harry as he sees blood painted across Harry’s knuckles. Louis doesn’t know what to do so he reaches out, brushes his fingertips against Harry’s skin. Harry immediately recoils, takes a step back, away from Louis.

“That’s not — fair, Harry, that’s not fucking fair and you know it,” Louis starts, but it’s not like Harry can hear him and that’s all Louis wants right now, is for Harry to _fucking hear him_. “I love you, I love you so fucking much, you know that. So you can’t stand here and yell at me and be angry at me because we grew apart. We grew up and lost each other a bit, didn’t we?”

Harry’s not listening, he’s instead tending to his hand, tears in his eyes but Louis keeps going anyway.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. That doesn’t mean I don’t know how to love you. It means I’m fucking terrified, and so are you. Why else do two people who are apparently meant to be together somehow grow apart? Because they’re both scared. _Both_ of them.”

“I don’t — know, if we’re ever going to be together. I don’t know if I’m ever going to wake up but you know what I do know? I know that my favourite place to touch you is the inside of your elbow, because no matter what — it makes you smile. It tickles you a little and you laugh and push me away because it’s your one weak point.

“And you know what else? I’ve always wanted to kiss you behind your ear. And where your neck meets your shoulder. I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like to kiss you in the morning, even though I know for a fact that your morning breath smells the worst out of anyone’s I’ve ever known. And you know what else? You fucking terrify me. And I don’t — know what to fucking do about it, Harry. And neither do you, I think. About me. About us.”

“Bye, Louis,” Harry says before he makes his way to the door, opening it as he goes, leaving Louis out on the patio — wrapping his arms around his middle and telling himself that he needs to just fucking breathe, that’s all.

 

“I must admit I’m a little disappointed, Harold.”

Louis is standing in the doorway to the kitchen of his flat, all signs of the roommate gone. He sees Harry at the stove, stirring something in a pan.

He doesn’t remember this ever happening, though, Louis thinks to himself as he watches Harry turn around to glance at Louis who's he’s still watching him.

Harry looks up, confused. “You’re disappointed because…”

“Because you’re wearing pants,” Louis says simply, taking a step towards him. Harry grins, shaking his head before he adds something else to the mixture. Louis laughs, quietly.

Harry’s skin is warm to his touch as Louis put his hands on his waist, pressing his lips to the back of Harry’s shoulder, smiling against his skin.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate me cooking completely naked — for sanitary reasons, of course,” Harry says.

Louis laughs, the sound muffled against Harry as he shrugs. “I don’t think I’d mind all that much, to be honest,” he says.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time, then,” Harry says.

Louis kisses his skin, letting his lips linger as he drags them just under Harry’s neck — feeling him shudder at the contact. 

“Think there’s gonna be a next time?” Louis asks.

Harry scoffs, trying to step out of Louis’ grip but Louis stays nearly plastered to his back, laughing when Harry makes a face.

“Heyyyyyy,” he drawls. “Be nice or you might not get any of this.”

“So rude,” Louis says. “If I need to remind you, you’re cooking with _my_ food?”

Harry doesn’t respond, just presses his lips to Louis’ temple before he starts scraping some of the food onto two plates, carefully. 

Louis watches, watches his other self smile widely — laughing as Harry mumbles something, moving away from Louis as he reaches out to poke his side, playfully. It’s not something he remembers happening but something about it feels so familiar. Louis closes his eyes, drifting off again as his and Harry’s laughter carries him.

 

 

His head hurts. 

It’s a constant sort of pounding in the front of his head, the kind that doesn’t lessen, only gets worse. He can hear a steady beeping, though he can’t tell if it’s nearby or far away. There isn’t anything else, nothing else he can hear around him.

His arm stings a bit, rather uncomfortably and Louis isn’t sure what to do with it. He can feel the sheets on his hands, scratchy and rough — similar to the ones he used to hate sleeping in at his grandmother’s house when he was younger. 

He’s laying down, a blanket covering his body and he’s in what he assumes to be a bed. But his head hurts and his arm is fucking sore and there’s not much else, really.

When he finally opens his eyes he doesn’t recognize the room he’s in. A small sense of panic comes over him as he shifts, slightly. 

The beeping beside him increases when a door to his left opens, what looks like a nurse coming in and talking to him — Louis only half listening as he tries to steady his breathing.

“You’re in the hospital, you’ve just woken up from a coma, do you know your name?”

 _He’s okay_ , Louis thinks to himself. _He’s okay_.

 

He doesn’t get to go home, not right away; apparently he needs to stay for a week — possibly two at the hospital, as requested by his doctor.

His days are filled with visits from his mum and a number of hours doing physio therapy, which Louis is not the biggest fan of, as it were. Mostly it leaves him sore and aching and crabby, which is a combination not all that pleasant. 

“This telly doesn’t work,” Niall says. He’s perched on the end of Louis’ bed, remote in hand as he looks up at the screen.

Louis smirks. “Came here to watch some football instead of talking to me, Horan? How very rude of you,” he says.

Niall sighs, loudly, tossing the remote to his side, it landing somewhere near Louis’ leg. Zayn’s sitting beside the bed and he gives Niall a look before turning back to Louis.

“Are you hungry? Do you want anything?” Zayn asks.

“Since you asked me five minutes ago?” Louis teases, gently, watching as Zayn frowns in response. “I think I’m alright, thanks. Bit sore though, if you want to take the time to massage me, Ni, that would be lovely.”

“Fuck off, Lou,” Niall says. 

Zayn rolls his eyes, not saying anything as Niall looks at his phone, pausing for a moment. “Liam’s almost here — said there’s a bit of traffic, I think. Can’t really make out what he’s saying. I think he’s using that text what you say application, or something,” Niall says.

Louis laughs, because that’s so very Liam he can’t stop himself from doing so, really. “What about Harry?” he asks.

He doesn’t miss Niall giving Zayn a look, before glancing back at Louis. “He said he’d probably come with Liam,” Niall says.

Louis isn’t convinced, but doesn’t push the subject as he picks at his hospital bracelet. “How’s good old Derby doing, then?”

Zayn groans, rubbing a hand along his face. “Don’t even ask,” he mutters.

“Fucking terrible,” Niall spits, his accent coming out thicker the angrier he gets, Louis thinks to himself with a small smile. “They’re playing like a bunch of _idiots_ and I can’t —”

“Am I late?” comes Liam’s voice from the doorway.

“Not at all, Payno,” Louis says, motioning him to come forward. “Niall was about to tell us in the most passive aggressive way possible — how angry he is at Derby County.”

Liam snorts, patting Zayn’s shoulder before he moves to give Louis a hug, settling in the chair on the other side of the bed. “Think I’ll pass on hearing that, actually,” he says.

Louis pauses, blinking, as he looks between the three of them. “But where’s —” he starts, looking toward the empty doorway. “Where’s Harry?”

Liam shifts, awkwardly, looking at his hands folded in his lap. Niall and Zayn are no better, coughing into their fists and looking anywhere but at Louis. 

“He was busy, or something. Said he had some things to do at home,” Liam says after a moment.

Louis swallows, licking his lips as he shakes his head. “Sounds like bullshit to me,” he says.

Niall reaches out for him but Louis doesn’t let him, moves back a bit as he glances around the room instead. “He hasn’t visited me once, you know.”

His words go unanswered for a little while, no one wanting to really say anything and while Louis doesn’t blame them — he also knows how fucking pissed he is, that Harry isn’t here.

“It’s just, a lot, for him. Right now,” Niall says slowly.

“Well, that’s just fucking great,” Louis says sarcastically. “Because he isn’t the one stuck in this fucking hospital room, is he?”

“Louis —” Zayn starts, but Louis just shakes his head.

“It’s fine. I don’t care, it’s — fine. We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” Louis says quickly, because he really doesn’t want to talk about it, if he’s being honest.

 

After nearly two weeks he’s released from the hospital. He goes back home with his mum, his sisters greeting him at the door, their voices loud and exactly how Louis remembers them.

The doctors said he’d have a lot of headaches, probably shouldn’t be driving for a few weeks, and will continue on with his physio therapy — but he’s going to make a full recovery, they suspect. 

Zayn, Liam, Niall, and Harry stop by a few days later — after Louis had practically insisted that he’s fine and that yes, he would very much like them to come over. 

“We don’t want it to be — too much,” Liam says as soon as he walks through the door, but Louis just rolls his eyes.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Louis says, laughing as he pulls Liam into a hug.

Zayn’s next, gripping Louis tightly, the two standing there a moment before he pulls back, Niall next.

Niall looks at him, pausing before he does anything. He steps forward, giving Louis a hug before he glances back at Harry.

Louis wants to say something, give into his instinctive sarcasmbefore he gives Harry a quick hug. He doesn't linger at all before he steps back. “Was thinking we could play some Fifa, see if you lot are still as terrible as the last time we all played,” Louis says. “Think I’ve given you all adequate time to improve, at any rate.”

He sees Niall nudge Harry’s hip as they walk to the basement but Louis doesn’t think about it, doesn’t let himself even try and figure out what they could be saying. Instead he puts an arm around Liam’s shoulder and starts down the flight of stairs.

 

They all play, then watch a film as per Niall’s request — all piled in the basement. Louis is between Zayn and Liam, Harry and Niall in front of the couch. He tries not to think about it too much but every time Harry so much as even shifts Louis feels his jaw tighten. He doesn't say anything about it while he’s sitting.

By the time everyone leaves, however, Louis finds Harry still in the kitchen. He’s at the sink, doing the dishes — because of course he’s doing the fucking dishes, Louis thinks to himself.

“Go _home_ , Harry.”

Harry doesn’t move for a few moments, doesn’t say anything and Louis has no idea what he could possibly say to him until —

“Gotta finish these, then I’ll leave,” he says.

Louis sighs, not having the patience for this right now. He leans against the doorway and doesn’t move.

“Harry. Just go, please.”

“Are you mad at me?”

Louis supposes he should’ve seen this question coming, to some extent. “Little pissed off, yeah,” he answers truthfully because there's no point in going around it.

Harry turns, then, looking at Louis. It’s the first time Louis has allowed himself to look at Harry — _really_ look at him, since he got here. “Because I didn’t visit?”

“Got it straight in one, good job,” Louis deadpans. Harry doesn’t move. “Now can you please go home?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit you,” Harry says instead. Louis just wishes he would go.

“I’ve been awake what, two weeks? Almost three?” Louis asks. Harry doesn’t say anything, just watches. “And this is the first time I’m seeing you? Of course I’m going to be pissed off, Harry.”

Harry swallows, but Louis doesn’t look away. “I just — I couldn’t do it.”

“Yes, well, since I’m here to cater to you, is there anything else I can do for you? Because it’s not like I’ve got a lot of shit going on here either,” Louis snaps.

Harry winces, and Louis wishes it didn’t have to be this way but he’s so fucking mad that he can’t do anything else, not about this.

“I’m not asking you for anything, Louis,” Harry says.

“Then what do you want, Harry? Because I have no fucking clue what it is you want from me.”

Harry is quiet. He dries his hands on the towel before putting it back down onto the counter. “Do you remember anything?”

Louis blinks, confused, as he shakes his head. “Remember anything from what?”

“When you were —” Harry doesn’t finish. Louis waits for him to continue, silently. “You don’t remember anything?”

“I don’t know, a few things. But they’re just dreams, Harry, they’re nothing important,” Louis says, annoyed, as he rubs at his temple. 

But Harry seems adamant, shaking his head as he takes a few steps toward Louis. His hands are almost shaking as he takes out a piece of paper and hands it to him.

“What’s this,” Louis asks flatly, looking down at it.

“Just — open it,” Harry urges softly.

Louis hesitates, unsure, as he takes in a deep breath. But then he slowly opens it, both of them standing in silence as he recognizes Harry’s writing.

“Harry, what — is this,” Louis asks slowly.

Harry doesn’t answer, doesn’t say anything as Louis continues to stare at it. It's as if he _knows_ exactly where it’s from, it’s just he can’t — quite place it. His head is pounding, heart racing and he knows he should remember but he fucking _can’t_.

“It was outside Niall’s house, just on his patio,” Harry starts to explain but Louis shakes his head, doesn’t want to hear any more of this right now. 

“Just — go,” Louis says.

Harry blinks, surprised, but Louis can’t deal with this, not right now. “Louis —” he starts, but Louis takes a step back.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here but I need you to go,” Louis says firmly.

Harry, thankfully, doesn’t argue as he picks up his things — a coat and puts on his shoes, giving Louis one last look before he leans forward — to press a kiss to Louis’ forehead. His lips are warm and soft against Louis’ skin before he pulls back, leaving without another word.

 

It doesn’t come to Louis all at once, just small pieces at a time. Half the time Louis isn’t even sure if he should believe it. He recalls one night him and Niall had sat up in his room — watching Breaking Bad and talking until three in the morning. Or when he had visited Zayn in his house, watching him paint and listening to quiet music in his room, painting an old picture of him and Louis — now tucked under his bed, forgotten and unfinished. Or the day he’d gone to see Liam, and watched him in his backyard with his dog, Loki, and Sophia, talking quietly to one another. Though Liam had gotten quiet, smiling sadly when he’d found a jersey in his closet — folded, with Louis’ number on it — the captain band prominent on the right sleeve. Louis had almost forgotten about that, he’d realized, watching Liam hold it in his hands before setting it back into his dresser drawer.

Which is why, confused and uncertain at half past three in the morning, he calls Niall.

“Louis? Are you alright?” Niall answers almost right away.

Louis is sitting on his bed, the paper from Harry still in his hands as he takes in a slow, shaky breath. “Did it really happen, Ni?”

It’s quiet on the other line. Louis doesn't say anything until Niall speaks again. “What do you remember?” he asks.

Louis sighs, stretching out his leg and wincing just slightly. “A lot of stuff, I think,” he says.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Niall asks, breaking the silence after a few moments.

“I don’t — know what to do,” Louis tells him.

“Do about what?”

“About —” Louis pauses, playing with the edge of the paper. “Harry, Niall. I don’t know what to do about Harry.”

“Well, nothing right now, because it’s half three in the morning,” Niall starts. Louis laughs, quietly.

“Since when did you become the sensible one?” Louis teases, just a little.

Niall scoffs from the other line. “Don’t be a dick,” he says. Louis is still smiling as he leans his head back against the wall, putting the paper down beside him. “Just talk to him, yeah? That’s all he wants.”

Louis sighs in defeat as he closes his eyes. “Alright, alright. I’ll — go there tomorrow, I s'pose.”

“Good plan. Now get some sleep, please,” Niall says.

“Okay, okay,” Louis relents. “Night, Ni.”

“Night, Lou,” is the last thing he hears before he hangs up, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep.

 

 

Anne’s the one who lets him in the next day, claiming Harry’s busy upstairs as Louis steps inside.

She gives Louis a hug, asks how he’s feeling — the usual, standard questions. He’s always liked Anne, liked how she was a consistently warm and inviting person, never wavering in who she is.

“He’s just upstairs,” Anne tells him, giving Louis a small smile before going into the kitchen.

Louis stands at the foot of the stairs for a few moments, as if considering. He needs to go up there, needs to talk to Harry — but he figures he can take his time, hand on the banister beside the stairs as he goes up.

Growing up, Harry’s room has always been the same; third door on the left, the one just before the bathroom. It’s still the same now, Louis thinks as he stands in front of it, knocking once.

A few moments of silence pass. Then, “come in.”

Louis opens the door, slowly, stepping inside as he looks around. Still the same, dark blue walls and scattered poster, bed in one corner and desk in the other. Harry’s at his desk, currently, on his computer as he looks over at Louis.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Louis replies, letting the door fall shut behind him.

Louis isn't sure where to start so he instead doesn’t say anything. He moves to sit on the edge of Harry’s bed and swallows. 

Harry turns in his chair, glancing at Louis. “So.” He starts.

Louis almost smiles, eyes fixated on the window. The sun’s coming through, warm, June weather rather inviting. 

“So.” Louis says back. 

“Niall said you called him,” Harry says, finally, looking up where he’s got his hands folded in his lap. 

“Did he?” Louis asks. “What did he say?”

“Just said you — wanted to talk about some stuff,” Harry answers.

Louis snorts, shaking his head. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it, yeah,” he says.

“We — need to talk about this,” Harry says.

Louis scratches the side of his neck, not arguing. "We do,” he agrees. “Would you like to go first?”

Harry sighs, clearly not in the mood for Louis’ jokes as he runs a hand along his face. “Well, you know how I feel about you.”

Louis nods. He waits for Harry to continue but Harry doesn’t, just looks at Louis. “And you — know how I feel about you?” 

“Pretty sure, yeah,” Harry answers.

Louis pauses, leaning forward a bit. He watches Harry for a few moments. “And how do I feel about you, then?”

“You don’t —” Harry stops, standing now, and starts to pace. “You don’t — love me, that way, and I know that, okay?”

Louis cocks his head to one side, curious. “Did I ever say that?”

“Made it pretty clear that one night,” Harry nearly snaps.

“I said I loved you, Harry.”

“But you said we could never be together,” Harry says which, fair, Louis thinks.

“I — was really drunk,” Louis says.

“Doesn’t change what you said. You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it,” Harry says.

“I meant it then, yeah, because I was cynical and just graduated and didn’t want you to be with me because I was so fucking terrified and thought that we would just — I don’t know, end it,” Louis says.

Downstairs there’s the sound of music coming from the kitchen, followed by Anne moving things around. Louis lets himself focus on that for a few moments, tries to calm himself.

“We’re not — who we were, when we were younger, Harry. We both know that,” Louis starts, and he can see the way Harry visibly tenses when he says it. “But not a lot of people are who they were when they were younger, either.”

“So what are you saying?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know,” Louis says, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, Harry, I don’t know but I know that I’m trying to say that I don’t want us to grow apart like we did, before.”

“Neither do I,” Harry says.

“Good. So we’re in agreement on that at least,” Louis says.

Harry smiles, just a little, but it’s enough to make Louis’ shoulders relax a bit, at least. “So, where does that leave us?”

It’s the question Louis has been thinking about for days, the one that he isn’t sure how to answer. He opens his mouth, not even quite sure himself what he’s going to say until —

“One of you needs to pick what film we are seeing tonight or I’m going to strangle Niall. Seriously,” Liam says as he walks into Harry’s room, Niall and Zayn not too far behind him.

“Keep your fucking hands off him, Li —” Zayn starts but stops when he sees Louis on Harry’s bed.

Louis closes his mouth as Liam looks between the two of them. He's blinking as he takes in a deep breath. “Did we — interrupt something?”

“You fucking idiot,” Niall says from behind Liam, poking his back. “I told you we should’ve knocked. Or called.”

“You’re the one who drove here,” Liam argues.

“Didn’t interrupt anything,” Harry says, and all of them known he’s lying because he’s always been a shit liar, but none of them call him out him on it.

“Niall wants to see Rio 2, or whatever, but I want to see that new Spider-Man movie,” Liam says, apparently moving onto the conversation at hand.

“Niall, really?” Louis asks, standing, as he looks over at him. “We’re seeing Spider-Man, no fucking doubt about it.”

“Fuck off,” Niall says, frowning. “You all suck.”

“Zayn didn’t even take your side?” Harry asks, laughing as Niall flips him off.

“Fucking picked Spider-Man 2,” Niall says as they start down the hallway.

“Lost points on the boyfriend scale there, Zayn,” Liam says.

Zayn makes a face. “What the fuck is a boyfriend scale, that’s not a thing.”

“Is too,” Harry says.

Louis half listens to the bickering between the group of them, hands in his pockets as he starts down the stairs. But then Harry gives him a look, eyes soft. And a bit hopeful, Louis tells himself.

 

_Are you free later this week?_

Louis gets a text from Harry when he’s at Zayn’s a few days later, the two of them in his room when his phone goes off.

“Harry?” Zayn asks, looking up from his sketchbook.

“Stop doing that,” Louis mutters, tossing his phone beside him onto Zayn’s bed.

“Doing what?” Zayn asks, grinning. He’s got a pencil between his teeth. 

“Reading my mind. It’s creepy,” Louis says.

Zayn laughs, leaning against the wall behind his bed. Louis closes his eyes for a few moments. “Gonna reply to him?”

“Okay, _mum_ ,” Louis snaps. “Enough.”

“I’m just saying…” Zayn trails off, decidedly no longer pushing the subject as he puts the pencil to his page again.

Louis has been here for a little while, coming over after his physio appointment in the afternoon. “Still wanna go out tonight?” he asks.

Zayn nods. “Sure, yeah. Don’t have to work tomorrow so I should be okay,” he says. “Is Harry coming?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says.

Zayn raises his eyebrows, almost expectantly. “Are you going to ask him?”

Louis sighs, dramatically, before moving to pick up his phone as he unlocks it, tapping out a reply to Harry. _not sure, need to check my work schedule. still coming for drinks tonight?_ he types out before hitting send.

“Don’t say I don’t do anything around here,” Louis says. Zayn laughs.

It’s a few minutes before Harry replies again, Louis looking at whatever Zayn is drawing on his sketchpad when his phone buzzes. 

_I’ll be there. x_

“He’s coming,” Louis says.

“Good,” Zayn says, sounding almost smug about it but Louis chooses to ignore him, instead focusing on his picture.

 

 

“I love when Payno drinks,” Niall says from one end of the booth.

Liam shoots him a look. “You just like making fun of me,” he says, pouting.

“Now now, no need for that,” Louis says, patting Liam’s shoulder. 

“When’s Harry getting here?” Niall asks.

Zayn slides in next to Niall, Louis shifting a bit where he’s sitting. He shrugs. “How am I supposed to know?” he asks.

Niall rolls his eyes. “I meant anyone in general. You’re not that special, Lou,” he says.

Louis sticks his tongue out, childishly, before taking another sip of his beer. It’s pretty full, a number of people crowded near the bar as Louis leans back comfortably.

“I am —” Harry’s voice comes a minute after Liam’s started complaining Niall’s eaten all the peanuts which, thank God Harry’s saving him from that, Louis thinks. “So late, I’m so sorry. Traffic was fucking horrible.”

“It’s fine,” Zayn says easily, an arm draped across Niall’s shoulders comfortably.

“Say, Tommo — I’m a little empty, and you just said you needed a refill — why don’t you accompany Harry here to the bar?” Niall asks.

Even Liam looks at Niall now, confuse. Louis blinks. “How very subtle of you, Niall. Trying to get rid of me I see?”

“Just go, you big idiot,” Niall says. “You’re the one at the edge of the booth, it makes sense.”

Harry gives him a sheepish sort of smile as Louis shakes his head and moves to get out of the bar. “So — we should, go, then,” Louis says slowly, as Harry nods in agreement.

Liam’s voice can be heard saying something like, “you idiot, you said you weren’t gonna push anything." Louis ignores him, following Harry through the slightly crowded area.

“How was work?” Louis asks conversationally as they’re standing, trying to get to the front of the bar.

“Fine, yeah. Almost burned some scones but luckily I saved them,” Harry answers, smiling a little.

Louis laughs, softly, feeling weirdly shy as he holds both his and Niall’s glasses in his hands. “Good thing you didn’t let them burn,” he says.

Harry’s blushing, noticeable even in the dim light as he gently nudges Louis’ hip with his own. “Deserve a medal or something,” Harry says.

Louis smiles wider, hating the way his cheeks feel warm as he orders their drinks. Harry’s beside him, warm and pressing lightly into Louis’ side in the small bit of space at the bar.

“Don’t know about a medal,” Louis says, watching Harry frown at him. “None of that, Styles,” he adds.

“So, you never got back to me,” Harry says after a moment.

“Going to have be more specific there, Styles,” Louis says, running his finger along the edge of his cup.

Harry licks his lips, watching for a brief moment before staring back up at Louis. “About — talking? Sometime this week?”

“Ah, right, yeah, you did mention that,” Louis teases, lightly. “Thursday probably? I’m moving back into my flat on Monday so I should be alright by then.”

Harry nods, taking his drink as they start back towards the table. Neither of them say anything but Louis doesn’t really mind when he feels Harry’s hand on his elbow, gentle and there for just a moment before he releases it slowly — sending a small shiver up Louis’ spine.

“What, did you get lost or something? Took you ages,” Niall says.

Louis kicks at his foot, missing almost entirely. “In case you haven’t noticed there’s an overly large crowd of people desperately wanting to get alcohol so it’s a bit hard to get through them all,” he says.

Zayn laughs into Niall’s shoulder, Liam smirking as Louis grins, only a little proud of himself. 

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Liam starts as Louis listens, leaning back in his seat. Harry’s beside him in the booth now, warm and smelling really good, Louis thinks to himself as he keeps his eyes focused on Liam. “Derby’s got no chance.”

Niall looks appalled, nearly slamming his drink down onto the table as he glares at Liam. “Fuck right off with that kind of attitude, Payno,” he says.

“You’re going to shatter your glass, Ni,” Harry warns.

Louis snorts, him and Zayn exchanging a sort of knowing look silently from across the table. “Thinks he knows what’s coming,” Niall mutters under his breath, giving Liam a look before taking a drink of his beer. 

Eventually Niall gets up for more peanuts, the bar not quite so full anymore as Louis nudges Liam lightly with his shoulder.

“Didn’t mean what I said about Derby,” Liam admits. “Just like to piss Niall off.”

“Don’t we all,” Louis says, Harry laughing in apparent agreement.

They sit there for a while longer, mostly arguing and bickering before Niall decides they should play some pool, though the only ones who are good at pool are Liam and Harry for the most part. Generally Louis stands around and blows in Harry or Liam’s ears until one of them gives a shitty turn, ending in Niall or Zayn taking a shot — the cycle continuing for most of the game like that.

“Alright there, Hazza?” Louis asks as Harry presses his face into Louis’ shoulder, pushing all of his weight into Louis.

“Tired,” Harry says, slowly. “Gonna fall asleep, I think.”

“You most certainly are not,” Louis says, poking at Harry’s cheek in an attempt to wake him up a bit. “I can’t carry you, you are far too heavy for me.”

Harry grunts, finally moving as the rest of them gather their things to go out. 

“Thursday?” he asks.

Louis looks back at Harry as he follows Zayn back to his car, feeling Harry brush his fingers against the back of his hand, slowly.

“Thursday,” Louis confirms, feeling a shiver run through him before he goes, hearing Harry and Liam’s voices carry off on the other side of the street.

 

 

“That everything?” Liam asks, standing in the middle of the living room.

“Think so,” Louis says, patting the seat next to him on the couch. “Was only a few bags, so.”

Liam moves, coming to sit beside him. Louis closes his eyes as he leans his head back, sighing tiredly. “Have fun the other night?”

Louis opens one eye, giving Liam a look. “What’s that supposed to be mean,” he asks.

Liam holds up his hands, and shrugs. “Nothing, nothing. I’m just —” Louis raises his eyebrows. “You seemed pretty comfortable with Harry, that’s all.”

Louis shifts, shaking his head as he closes his eye again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Liam snorts, loudly. “How are you feeling, though?”

Louis decides to open his eyes since it’s changed from the topic of Harry, thankfully. Heshrugs. “Fine, yeah. Mostly just going to physio so I’m a bit sore but, nothing really apart from that,” he answers.

Liam nods, slowly, as Louis watches him for a moment. “That’s good then,” he says finally, a small, sad sort of smile on his lips. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Lou.”

“Okay, okay, yes, I love you too, Payno, don’t go crying on me, yeah?” Louis says, ruffling a bit of Liam’s hair as he laughs, quietly.

“Should get going soon though, meeting Sophia to look at some paint for our flat,” he says after a moment.

“Paint, hm?” Louis asks, poking Liam’s side as he laughs again, pushing Louis away lightly. “Sounds pretty serious there, Li.”

“I don’t know — I guess so,” Liam says, but he’s blushing. Louis can see his cheeks a shade of red. “It’s just easy with her.”

Louis pauses, chewing his lower lip as he takes in a deep breath. “Easy,” he repeats, pulling on a loose thread on the couch.

Liam’s giving him a knowing smile. Louis rolls his eyes. “Stop that,” he says firmly.

“When are you seeing Harry again?” Liam asks.

“Thursday,” Louis answers, standing as he follows Liam to the door. 

“Well, have fun,” Liam says.

Louis makes a face. “You sound like my mother,” he says. 

Liam rolls his eyes, looking at Louis where he’s got the door open. “Just — see what happens, yeah? With Harry, I mean.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too much there,” Louis says, smiling widely when Liam frowns at him. “I’m sure I’ll talk to you later, or something.”

Liam hugs him, pulling Louis close for a few moments before leaving — Louis closing the door behind him as he rubs a hand along his face, tiredly.

“Well then, let’s give this a shot, Styles,” he mutters to no one but himself as he walks back into the kitchen.

 

 

_Do you want me to bring anything?_

_what, like dinner?_

_I thought you were making dinner?_

_harold. when have i ever offered to make dinner for anyone. ever. clearly you didn’t think this through._

_Fair enough. So no wine?_

_i never said no to wine._

_You’re so difficult._

_all part of my charm ;)_

_Be there in a few minutes._

_say i’m charming!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_See you soon, Louis._

 

His flat is mostly clean, roommate gone for the weekend at some wedding.Louis puts his phone down beside him. He’s weirdly nervous, unsure of what to do with himself as he settles on flipping through some random magazine on the table.

It’s just Harry, is the thing, and they decided to get together to talk so it’s not like Louis even has a real reason to be nervous. 

But then, as promised, a few minutes later that’s a knock on his door. Louis stands, moving to open it.

“Did you know Jennifer Anniston is pregnant?” is the first thing Louis asks when he sees Harry in the doorway. 

Harry pauses, briefly, before stepping into Louis’ flat. “I — had no idea, no,” he says after a moment.

Louis smiles, a little, watching as Harry kicks off his shoes carefully, running a hand through his hair before he hands Louis what looks to be a bottle of wine, if the length of it is any indication.

“For me? Why, you shouldn’t have,” Louis says.

Harry, as if expecting this, is already moving to walk into Louis’ living room. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have,” Harry tells him, but he’s smiling, Louis realizes after a moment.

“If you’re going to be that way you can leave,” Louis says, moving to sit on the couch as he watches Harry.

“I did drive all the way over here, so I think I should stay for a bit,” Harry replies, sitting beside Louis. 

Louis flicks his thigh, briefly, nearly laughing at the way Harry winces in response as he does. “Do you want anything? Food? Coffee? Wine?”

“Do you even have any food to give me?” Harry asks, somehow knowingly.

And Louis hates that Harry already knows before he asks, biting down on his lower lip to hold back his grin — though it hardly suppresses his dimples, Louis thinks. “That’s not important,” Louis snaps.

“I would love some wine, actually,” Harry says, decidedly _not_ commenting on Louis’ scowl directed towards him.

“Lucky for you, I have some,” Louis says as he stands. “I’ll just — be right back. Don’t. Go anywhere.”

“Don’t have anywhere to be,” is all Harry says before Louis goes into the kitchen.

Louis goes to the counter, bracing both his hands in front of himself. He bows his head for a moment and tries to fucking breathe. It’s feels almost suffocating, Harry being here — having him so close and being able to actually reach out and touch him, now, but Louis won’t let himself. What he needs to do is pull himself together, get some wine glasses, and get back in there to talk to him.

Louis takes in a deep breath, steadying himself as he gets two wine glasses from the cupboard. They’re cheap, Tesco wine glasses, nothing special but he’s sure Harry won’t mind as he looks for the wine bottle opener.

Harry’s still on the couch when Louis re-enters the living room, handing him a glass before he sits back onto the couch.

“So.” Louis starts, looking down at his glass.

“So.” Harry parrots back, shifting a little.

Louis’ heart is beating in his chest, fast, making his head spin a little as he takes a sip of his drink. “We’re here to — talk,” Louis says slowly.

“That was the plan, yes,” Harry says.

Usually this is where Louis would say something sarcastic but he doesn’t, instead looking up at Harry as he pauses, for a few moments. 

“What are we doing?” Louis asks.

It’s a big question but somehow not even all that big, considering what they’ve been through up until now. 

“What — do you want?” Harry asks in response.

Louis frowns, kicking at his thigh briefly. “You can’t answer a question with a question, Styles.”

Harry’s lips are stained red from the wine, parted and Louis can see his tongue darting out, for just a second. It's still noticeable as Louis presses his lips together thoughtfully.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” Harry starts, and Louis’ chest tightens when he hears it. “But I know that I want to be doing it with you.”

Louis swallows, leaning back a bit as he smiles — running a hand through his hair. “You’re such — a fucking sap, Harry, _Jesus_.”

Harry laughs, the sound easing whatever tension had settled between them. Louis watches him, quietly, before he speaks again.

“I don’t know where we would start,” he says.

“Start with what?” Harry asks.

“With us — I guess,” Louis replies.

Harry blinks, slowly, sipping his wine again, as if considering. “Do we need a place to start?”

Louis sighs, mostly annoyed with himself as he runs a hand through his hair. “Seems like a logical way to go about things,” he says.

“So this is really happening?” Harry asks him after a moment, almost carefully. “Are we — really going to try this?”

“I mean, yes? Unless you don’t — want too?”

“No, no,” Louis says quickly, rushing to get the words out. “I do, I do I just —”

“You just…” Harry trails off, brows furrowed as Louis shakes his head.

“Nothing. There’s — nothing that feels like we shouldn’t,” Louis says.

There’s not much else to be said then, Louis realizes as Harry nods, slowly, murmuring a quiet “okay” before he’s leaning forward, to Louis.

Louis feels himself inhale sharply with anticipation because Harry’s so close, now, he can feel his warm breaths coming out in small puffs against Louis’ cheek until —

“Shit.” Harry blurts out. Louis freezes, opening his eyes. “Shit, shit, shit, bugger fucking —”

He’s split wine all over himself, Louis now realizes as he tries to stifle a laugh, watching him. It wasn’t even a small spill, something small on his shirt — it’s nearly all down his front, even getting onto his pants as Harry continues to swear under his breath, Louis taking his glass from him as he stands.

“It’s fine, I’ve got some — clothes, upstairs, if you wanna change into them?” Louis suggests.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, looking unhappy and pouting as Louis shrugs. 

“Don’t be. Go change and I’ll sort this out, yeah?”

Harry nods, not saying anything else before he starts upstairs, footsteps continuing down the hall as Louis takes the glasses into the kitchen. 

He rinses them before going back into the living room and tries to get as much wine as he can off the cushions with a wet cloth — though it feels like he’s just making matters worse as Louis glances up towards the stairs. With no sign of Harry he starts up towards his room with slow, careful steps, knocking on the door that's already slightly open before pushing it open further.

“Harry? Is everything alright?” Louis starts, pausing when he finally catches sight of Harry in the middle of his room.

Harry’s there, in nothing but his briefs — holding a pile of what Louis assumes to be his clothes, a sheepish sort of smile coming to his lips when he sees Louis.

“Sorry, I was um —” Harry says, pausing before he shrugs, briefly.

Louis should go, probably, but he can’t seem to bring himself to move — instead staring at Harry and trying to breathe, as he takes a step back. 

“Right, yeah, you were —” Louis trails off, not even sure what he’s going to say, still looking at Harry.

He really should go, but instead he finds himself wanting Harry to say something, anything, to get him to stay. 

And as if reading his mind Harry opens his mouth, muttering a soft, hardly audible “Louis —” before taking a step towards him.

It all seems to fall into place, then, when Harry reaches out — catching Louis’ waist and tugging him closer. Louis’ head is spinning again, Harry the only thing he can really focus on, close enough now so Louis can press his forehead against Harry’s own, lightly.

Louis doesn’t want to talk, not anymore, as he presses his hands to Harry’s shoulders — feeling his skin against his touch, warm and just how Louis thought it would be.

They’re not young anymore; Harry’s no longer eleven with his curly hair piled on his head, nor is Louis twelve — with his hair plastered to his forehead but it somehow feels like they’re younger, standing there, without anything but their breath mingling together.

Harry’s lips are so close, still red from the wine as Louis shifts up toward him, just a little, pressing them against his own. 

It’s gentle, not at all rushed and Louis nearly sighs at the contact — reaching one hand to cradle the back of Harry’s skull carefully. Harry is pliant to Louis’ touch, lips soft and inviting as Louis sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, just wanting more and more of him, now.

Because here, now, in the stillness of Louis’ room — he’s his. Harry’s his and he’s not going anywhere, Louis realises then. He’s firm, planted, just the same as he was all those years ago, in some room in Niall’s house. Louis lifts Harry’s hand, then, pulling away from his mouth and pressing the palm of it to his lips as he holds it there for a few moments.

“Hi,” Harry says, voice soft.

“Hi yourself,” Louis says, but he’s smiling.

Louis’ knees hit the back of his bed as he sits, crawling up towards his pillows as Harry follows easily behind him. 

But then Harry’s kissing him again, slotting one leg between Louis’ own and it’s here Louis realizes he’s wearing far more clothes than Harry.

“Feel a little overdressed,” Louis comments. Harry snorts, rolling his eyes as he helps get his shirt off, tossing it over the bed. He leans down to press a kiss to Louis’ collarbone, lips trailing up to his neck as Louis lets out a small moan in response.

So Harry starts next with his jeans, assisting in tugging them to Louis’ knees, then off completely — all the while with a small, knowing smirk on his lips.

“This is better,” Harry says, laughing quietly when Louis scoffs in response, as if he’d been expecting he would.

Harry’s warm and all around him now, smelling of wine and a bit of something Louis can’t place — like when you’ve been out in the sun for too long, or after you’ve just gotten out of the bathroom after a long shower. Like home, Louis thinks as he tilts Harry’s chin up so he can kiss him again.

Harry complies easily, licking into Louis’ mouth exploratively without any sort of hesitation. Not that Louis minds; it’s quite the opposite, really, nearly panting as he kisses Harry back.

It’s simultaneously everything and nothing how Louis imagined it would be, having Harry. Because Louis knows him, likes to think he knows Harry better than almost everyone — running his thumb over the inside of Harry’s wrist in slow, constant circles against his skin. 

He remembers the first time he thought about kissing Harry — back when he was fourteen, and things were different. They’d been at Niall’s, spending the afternoon swimming in his pool and sitting out by a fire to dry off later that evening. Harry had been cooking marshmallows with Liam, insisting that he was “going to burn them”, to which Liam had taken offense because he is, as he deemed himself, a “marshmallow expert”.

Harry, sitting across from Louis then, had sighed and relented, allowing Liam to feed them all black and over cooked marshmallows with a large pout on his face. And Louis remembers so clearly, in his chair, thinking that he would very much like to go over and kiss that pout off his face, being so certain that it would fix everything.

And maybe, his younger self had been on to something, now that he looks back on it.

Harry’s taken to sucking on the skin of Louis’ neck, biting down teasingly as Louis holds back a sound of surprise in response — gripping at Harry’s waist as Louis feels his tongue dart over the skin of the bite he’d left, warm and wet and enough to make Louis half hard already.

Harry hums, clearly content with this reaction as he kisses Louis again, now palming him through his pants. Louis doesn’t even think about it when he rocks up into Harry’s touch, nearly desperate as he whines, just a little, into the skin of Harry’s shoulder.

Louis isn’t prepared when Harry strokes him once, hand warm around Louis’ cock as he rubs a bit of precome off the head of it. Louis is sure he’s going to see stars.

“Shit, Harry —” Louis breathes out, not even caring how desperate he sounds anymore. “ _Fuck_.”

“Wanna fuck you,” Harry whispers, sending chills through Louis as he kisses the shell of his ear, lips lingering as he waits for a response.

“ _Please_ ,” Louis says, hoping that’s answer enough for him.

It is, apparently, Harry moving for a moment to reach for something as Louis tries to regain some sort of composure without the warmth of Harry’s hand stroking his dick which is still uncomfortably hard against his stomach. 

“I’d figured you get the hint,” Louis says as Harry presses a kiss to his forehead, briefly.

“Not that hard to figure out, if I’m being honest,” Harry says, unwrapping a condom as Louis bites the inside of his arm to stifle his laugh.

“Are you making jokes about my dick?” Louis asks.

“Very possible,” Harry responds, slicking himself up as Louis tsks at him. 

“Unbelieveable,” Louis says, gasping a little when Harry’s hand is back on his cock. “You — better make it up to me now, Styles,” he barely manages to get out.

Harry grins, because he’s an arsehole, biting Louis’ nipple for a moment before pulling away. “I plan to,” he says.

“Cocky,” Louis comments breathlessly, having to physically stop himself front rutting up against Harry's thigh impatiently.

“Enough with the dick jokes, please,” Harry very nearly begs against the skin of Louis’ chest where he’s kissing now.

“I make no promises,” Louis says.

He becomes a bit preoccupied, however, when he feels Harry’s finger — now covered in lube, brush over his rim as Louis very nearly ruts into his finger in response. 

It’s been what feels to be ages, Harry very teasingly continually running his thumb over it once, twice, three times before actually inserting his finger. And Louis would take the moment to be angry with him but instead he finds himself closing his eyes and tilting his head back, the burning sensation running through him but he loves it — and he has a feeling Harry knows that.

Harry’s quick to work up a rhythm, working fast to bring himself up to two fingers, Louis biting down on his lower lip as he rocks his hips with it, tries to get Harry still deeper inside him. It’s so much, the burning and pleasure mixing together but Louis is nowhere near wanting Harry to stop as he works in a third finger, stretching Louis out as much as possible now.

Louis digs his nails into Harry’s arm, just a little, anchoring himself as best he can as Harry pulls out — Louis clenching around nothing as he whines, loudly.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ temple, kissing the skin there tenderly before he brushes his dick against Louis’ hole now. “Ready?”

Louis nods, knowing he couldn’t even talk if he tried to as Harry pushes into him slowly. Louis shifts a little, adjusting to the feeling of Harry inside of him before he pulls back out again — only to push in once more as Louis leans his head back, trying to breathe.

It doesn’t take much for Harry to work up to a pace, pushing in and out, his head bowed just over top of Louis as he leans up, just a bit, kissing him briefly. He feels warm all over, orgasm growing and coiling in his stomach as he lets out a slow, shaky breath.

Harry’s above him, as Louis reaches out to touch him — no longer standing there and watching, wanting, but he can actually feel Harry against the pads of his fingertips and Louis doesn't think he'll ever get tired of that feeling. 

“Close —” Louis warns as Harry moans, low, kissing Louis’ cheek as he nods in response.

Harry slams into him again which sends Louis over the edge, coming all over his stomach. He closes his eyes — Harry pulling out a few moments later, after pushing into Louis a few more times. He winces as Harry moves, raw and head still somewhere else as he tries to breathe.

Somewhere he registers Harry taking off the condom, feeling his lips press to the underside of Louis’ jaw — followed by a wet flannel being pressed along his skin, cleaning up whatever he can reach. 

“Come back to me,” Harry says quietly.

Louis blinks, opening his eyes as he smiles. “Right here,” Louis says, kissing Harry’s lips briefly before he sits up, slowly.

Harry nods, seemingly satisfied as he slowly moves to get up. Louis watches him, yawning into the back of his hand as he wraps a blanket around his middle, shivering slightly.

“Where are you going then?” Louis asks.

Harry turns, looking at him as he puts on his pants, then his jeans. “Hungry,” he says.

Louis smirks, burying half his face into his pillow. “Good luck,” he says as Harry ducks down, kissing his head briefly before starting out the door and down the hallway.

Instead of moving right away Louis stays there for a few moments, hearing the sounds of Harry moving around. He smiles to himself, a little, nearly laughing because it could’ve been this easy all along.

Louis doesn’t know why he didn’t realise that before, why neither of them did, really. They were probably too scared, or too unsure, or too something else he can’t think of right now. But there’s always reasons, it seems, or there always were — but right now Louis can’t think of any of them.

Maybe it was just them, Louis thinks to himself as he stands, moving to get some clothes to put on now. Just them in the way of what they wanted — which was each other.

He follows the sounds of Harry into the kitchen, pausing in the door as he stays there for a few moments, unnoticed by Harry who’s somehow managed to find some things cook worthy — a small pile of them on the counter.

Louis opens his mouth but pauses, a moment of recognition hitting him as he looks around. He’s been here before, he thinks to himself, looking to where his past self had been standing — unnoticed, unseen, just there.

Louis blinks in disbelief, rubbing his eyes for a moment before he finally says anything. 

“I must admit I’m a little disappointed, Harold.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://loueh.tumblr.com/) if you wanna come say hello!


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